What is the Order of the Fez?Posted: September 13, 2009
I get that question a lot. I usually reply by sending them here. Sort of a test. I still believe the best answer to the question can be found in the early posts and comments but as the number of posts has grown, it becomes less likely that anyone will go back and read them all.
I hate breaking character but the time has come to explain the Order of the Fez and how it came to be. And I’m only going to do it once.
In August of 2007, my Life Partner Barb was in a shop on Beale Street in Memphis, Tennessee (USA). She spotted a leopard pattern fez and bought it for me, along with a pair of Elvis sunglasses.
I had a webcam in my office at the time that posted a still image (every 30 sec) to my personal blog. I was wearing the fez one morning when I got an email from a coworker in another office, asking: “What’s with the fez?”
“I belong to a secret society called the Order of the Fez,” I replied.
“Can I join?” he asked.
“Got to have a fez,” I explained.
“Where the hell do I get a fez?” he shot back.
“If you can’t figure that out, you are not worthy to be in our order,” I snootily responded.
That afternoon I received another email from (by now you’ve figured out it’s #2) Brother Bob, along with a moving Petition of Worthiness. And the rest, as they say, is fez lore.
What is the Order of the Fez?
It is a joke. A running gag. A put-on. A spoof. A “wind up” as our UK members might say. I think most of our members get this and wonder why I am stating something so obvious.
As difficult as it is to imagine, we will –if our membership continues to grow– have someone that doesn’t get the joke. That doesn’t appreciate the cynical, smart-ass, put-on/put-down humor that winds through the DNA of most of our members.
If you are thinned skinned… if you take yourself… your politics… your religion… or your other organizations seriously… you might not be happy in the OOTF.
If I had it to do over, I might make membership in ANY other organization grounds for disqualification (which would cost us a butt-load of ukulele players).
This is probably a good time to explain our comment policy, which I am making up as I write this.
Nobody gets mad. No hurt feelings. No confrontation. No flames. I reserve the right to completely rewrite your comment or just blow it out. There will be no flame wars.
And if anyone reading this is, “Well, shit. That’s not what I thought I was joining!” We’ll refund your membership dues and retire your number in some sort of Hall of Shame.
The comments are open (unless I don’t like ’em)