Buttonholes and Other Trivia

It’s a dark day here on the island. Profundity is still asleep. So, here’s an exciting discourse on the importance of insignificant minutiae, a salute to the unremarkable that makes life work.

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I’m reading a poem by Naomi Nye, “Famous.” She wants to be famous, like pulleys, boots and buttonholes. It’s an ode to things seemingly unimportant. Buttonholes are included.

It strikes me as curious that what seems so common never gets the proper praise it deserves. Instead, like many of us, it remains overlooked. Milton’s words, written in Sonnet 16, sum it up: “They also serve who only stand and wait.” My closet, and yours, is full of buttonholes, just waiting for their hour in the sun.

But unlike many of us, buttonholes and their buddies---belt loops and zippers, the closet trio---live lackluster lives in relative obscurity. They suffer indignity without complaint and function without fussing. Such a brotherhood of boring essentials gets little respect.

Take the tiny buttonholes that anchor shirt collars to achieve decorum. They’re the constant curse of every arthritic-gnarled finger that ever tried to conquer the task. They’re famous for the wrong reason.

Buttonholes are not created equal. Some are more equal than others. The top buttonholes, like politicians, have the rare privilege of occupying the spotlight. Unfortunately, it often leads to an arrogance of position. It prompts the African proverb, “Even a flea on the neck of a giraffe thinks it’s immortal.” Insolence won’t guarantee electability as she hopes.

Somewhere out there lurks the philosophy of the ‘gradation principal,’ or something like that. It conspires with Darwin to affirm the tenets of his Evolution Theory. It’s a sort of hierarchy chart like you’d find in a corporate organization that puts the janitor in the same closet with the mop.

Buttonholes and its pals suffer similar obscurity and are found at the bottom of everybody’s org chart. Sorta like being shoved into the same closet with mops, brooms and toilet brushes. But then again, this is life. And life is full of contradictions.

Moreover, life’s not fair, either. Suppose you were a buttonhole on a shirt sleeve that gets an Obama-style rollup. Would you be depressed because the frontal buttonholes got all the glory by accentuating vibrant-colored buttons? Basking in the light of another’s reflected glory is a coveted cultural event.

Listen, buttonholes didn’t crawl ashore with some amoeba. They originated in a cave. Paleontologists theorize that some Troglodyte’s wife concluded that buttonholes would augment his bear-hide jacket and showcase the dinosaur teeth buttons. Everything begins somewhere.

Buttonholes have come a long way since those days. They’ve survived attempts by Velcro strips to subvert grace they enjoy. True, Velcro has its place, but never on a runway in Milan. Even Italians are not that crude.

Belt loops get no respect either. Have you ever examined one closely? Right. Why would you? They have a simple job of just keeping the belt in its lane, so to speak. There’s a half-baked theory going around that belt loops were the original idea of stay-in-your-box political correctness.

Neither are zippers on anyone’s idea of a fashion statement. Little can be done with a zipper to elevate its position as the guardian of secrets. Instead, zippers should be revered by all for their ability to keep the secrets to themselves. After all, they can be exposed to a multitude of compromising situations. Zippers offer valuable lessons…do your job and keep your mouth shut.

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So thanks, Naomi, for your insights on insignificance today. It’s a good reminder to acknowledge the unspectacular among us that makes life work.

Whatever else buttonholes, belt loops and zippers may be, at least they can be counted on to always do what they were designed for. I wonder if we could say the same about ourselves.


Bud Hearn
January 22, 2016