IPeople will photograph you. On the street, from across the road, occasionally without asking. Walk a little slower; it’s only fair.
IIYou will start making entrances. A poncho moves a beat after you do, so even crossing the road looks rehearsed.
IIIYou will throw the hem over your shoulder. Dramatically, and far more often than strictly necessary. There is no known cure.
IVStrangers will ask where it’s from. Usually at a pedestrian crossing, with about four seconds to answer. (Mirayama, London. You’re welcome.)
VYou will feel wrapped, warm and entirely safe. And a little smug about it, while everyone else is still fighting with a zip.
VIYour coat may feel neglected. It had a good run.
VIILeaving becomes an event. Nobody walks away quietly in a long silk fringe.
Consider yourself warned. The Dahlia Poncho, and the others, which behave in much the same way.