Tailor - Byron Mad Bad And Dangerous

In the whimsical, ever-bustling town of Serendip, located on the cusp of forgotten realms, dwelled a man named Bartholomew. Not just any man, Bartholomew was a flamboyant tailor, widely admired for his remarkable skill and artistry. His dexterity with a needle and thread was so legendary that he was often hailed as a maestro who weaved dreams into garments, creations that seemed fit even for divine beings.

Bartholomew, always the center of attention, graciously received each accolade with a well-practiced bow and the recurrent phrase, “I’m humbled by your praise.” This endearing response was perceived by the townsfolk as a testament to his modesty, adding a captivating charm to his larger-than-life persona.

One bright day, a stranger named Frederick passed through the quaint town of Serendip. Frederick was no ordinary traveler. He was a philosopher who had spent his life studying human nature and its intricacies. Dressed in a humble, dusty coat adorned with patches of wisdom earned on the long roads of his journeys, Frederick decided to pay a visit to the famous Bartholomew’s shop, intrigued by the tales he had heard.

Observing Bartholomew’s ritual response to a customer’s compliment, Frederick raised an eyebrow. His deep-set eyes reflecting years of wisdom, he began, “Dear sir, to be humbled by praise implies an original state of arrogance. If praise genuinely humbles you, it suggests that the compliments serve to deflate your overinflated ego.”

A ripple of stunned silence spread across the room as his words resonated through the shop like a thunderclap. Bartholomew blinked, taken aback, but then a subtle, sly smile found its way onto his face. “By George, you’ve hit the nail on the head, philosopher! I’ve been revelling in the glow of unending compliments, pretending humility, when in truth, I was merely baiting more praise!”

The crowd gasped collectively, their illusion shattered. Their beloved tailor, humble Bartholomew, had been cunningly hiding behind the veil of humility to nurture his vanity.

News of Bartholomew’s startling admission traveled far and wide, not just across the charming town of Serendip, but to towns, cities, and kingdoms beyond. It unveiled the deceptive nature of the phrase, “I’m humbled by your praise,” which was now seen not as a mark of genuine humility but as a clever ruse for garnering more accolades.

In the end, Bartholomew’s legacy extended far beyond his exceptional tailoring. He unintentionally became a living symbol of concealed arrogance, forever attached to a phrase once thought to embody modesty. And the world, enlightened by a humble philosopher and an ironically not-so-humble tailor, grew just a tad wiser.

Lord Byron