Considerable evidence suggests I don’t have a very memorable face. For one thing, if I wear a hat, people I know reasonably well tend to walk past me in the street without a second glance. For another, over the course of my life, I have been told I look like such a wide range of other people (who themselves don’t look alike), that I can only conclude the primary characteristic of my features is their ubiquity.
Some of the comparisons have an unnerving ring of truth: Lee Evans is a regular one, made not only by acquaintances but strangers in the street. Michael Crawford in Frank Spencer mode is another, which links naturally to Evans, I suppose. Less convincingly, a woman outside a nightclub in Aberdeen once told me I looked like Will Young.
On another occasion, an elderly lady on a plane turned to my wife and said: “Ooh, doesn’t he look like Tim Henman?!”, before pausing and adding, “Actually, he looks like Greg Rusedski as well!” I mean… huh?
Other proclaimed resemblances include Hugh Laurie (as Prince George, not as Gregory House); the kid who played young Josh in the film Big; Pob, the peculiar children’s TV character of the 1980s; and Patrick Dempsey (which I will definitely take, albeit with a pinch of salt).
The habitual wearing of a mask in these coronavirus days makes recognition even harder. And while the playing field has been levelled to some extent in that regard, people with more characterful faces seem less hidden by their coverings than plain-faced bods like me.
When picking up my son from school, I now regularly have to announce myself and explain who I have come for, as the teacher peers into my eyes desperately searching for a clue as to my identity. As for other parents, I could be a complete stranger for all that most of them seem to notice.
But judging from the way some mums have glanced at me then hurriedly looked away, I worry that I’m generating vibes that are potentially more sinister
In fairness, for many years the school run was not my domain. When I was a full-time commuter, I left the house long before the children, and returned long after them. As a result, I haven’t been on the scene for the same length of time as some of the other mums and dads – perhaps that explains my apparent anonymity. Perhaps.
Still, since becoming more involved in drop-off and pick-up a year or so ago, I have tried to be friendly. True, I’m not likely to hang around for school gate “bants”, but I’ll spray cheery “hellos” like confetti and flash my Lee Evans smile at all and sundry. Most of the time I get a broadly positive response.
Masked up, however, and I have seemingly become invisible. Worse, I’ve started to wonder if my attempts to signal a smile with my mouth covered are causing a degree of alarm. In the best-case scenario, my raised eyebrows might be redolent of Vic Reeves pulling his Shooting Stars-era “Ooh-vah-voo” face, and might leave other parents simply wondering why this vaguely familiar bloke is walking around looking perpetually surprised.
But judging from the way some mums have glanced at me then hurriedly looked away, I worry that I’m generating vibes that are potentially more sinister – think the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang; or Dominic Cummings looking for a new project.
I could, of course, avoid these pitfalls by remaining stony-faced, but if by some remote chance I am recognised, I wouldn’t want to be thought stand-offish or rude. What to do for the best eh?!
All this angst has led me to wonder whether I have stumbled on the reason why some people keep their nose uncovered when they have their masks on – as another potential means of recognition. Needless to say, there is nothing notable about my snout, however.
On the plus side, in all the months of mask-wearing, I have not been told I resemble any other individual, nor has anyone wound down their window as they pass in their car, and called out – as a pleasant chap did some years ago – “Oi mate! You look like a w**ker.” Looks like I’ve had the last laugh – not that you’d see it.
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