Evolution: Not Perfect

The weirdest full-circle moment.

Back in 2021, I wrote a piece about a clearly vital human adaptation we don’t have but should: earlids. Like eyelids. But for ears. Because honestly.

While writing it, I emailed John McWhorterone of my language idols, to ask what we might call such a thing if it ever evolved. He didn’t respond (fair, I was a stranger pitching speculative ear flaps). But I kept the piece. Loved it. Let it rest.

Then this year, he wrote a New York Times column defending the right to be loud in public. It annoyed me so much I wrote a letter in response, and that got published in the NYT.

And just like that, we’re back to ears. And the need to shut them sometimes.

Voilà. The circle is complete. The world is too loud. Earlids are still brilliant. Come meet them.

DEAR EVOLUTION
We considered flaps covering nostrils even pre-covid. Errant, uncovered sneezes, odours galore – nose flaps would be lovely, but we couldn’t sort the breathing challenge without imagining fleshy films to allow oxygen and carbon dioxide to pass freely. At that point, we honestly lost interest.

And then it came to us in a flash. Earlids.

Anatomical precedence has been set. Mouths open and close. Sphincters – on bladders and colons – ditto! Although, to be sure, sometimes not fast enough, and Off the gluten we go! Or the unfortunate day the gym trainer cranks our treadmill with no warning and our pee splashes… everywhere. Serves her right, we think murderously as we drive home, weeping and humiliated, a sweatshirt from the lost and found tied around our waist. Shame prompts us to book with our ob/gyn. She glues in a sling – made of tape – while we enjoy twilight anesthetic and, according to the nurse, blather on about seeing her at Costco and being delighted she was wearing normal person clothes.

After satisfactorily demonstrating the self-catheterization skills we learned at our pre-op, we’re released to vomit in our mother’s new car and then make supper for children who shout about terrible food. Later, we escape to room with a locking door and sit gingerly on the bathroom floor, googling bladder sling side effects and educating ourself on migratory tape and class actions. We get all hopped up about how women are treated by the medical system until we realize for eight hundred sixty-seventh time we cannot, simply cannot, take on whole world. Pick our battles, we anger-weep as we insert ridiculous tube into tiny hole, then self-soothe with painkillers and the internet; tumbling down the JCrew rabbit hole till we fall asleep.

We return to bed after kids leave in the morning but get back up when painkillers begin melting in mouth because we forgot water glass. Dog now knows we are home and won’t stop barking so lure into crate with treats. Lay on sofa as bedroom too far, listening to howling displeasure for much longer than we’d have placed money on. An ear flap that slides closed – we picture it, sliding down. Or perhaps it would go sideways, like sliding door? Sliding earlids would be cool, we decide, and we’d be chuffed about that vibe. Then we remember how our brothers could jiggle bathroom sliding door open when we were a child, and as adult, the time we forgot open door is behind wall and hammered nails so we could hang picture that had been leaned against wall since moved in three years ago. Door now permanently nailed open and induces rage about many things when we look at picture and/or try to close door.

For next week, whenever we have something urgent to do, instead ponder earlids. Would they wink? What would it be called if they did? Study etymology of wink and are surprised to discover it has nothing to do with eyes but note its nice harmony with blink. And what about blinking. Would earlids, well, what would they do? Query famous linguist by email as to potential language around potential earlid functions but still awaiting reply. Check spam several times a day, as remain convinced linguist has been stunned by excellent, fun question, and then wonder if he is linguist with genetic engineering side hustle who has stolen idea and is running with it. Wonder about locking in related domain names and getting rich later when sell to him for large sums after tough negotiations.

As tender parts heal, ponder human’s use of everything but words to say how really feel. Would we signal with earlids similarly to how we use eyelids to convey we’re over it? Subtler than the hands-over-ears and stamping feet of our children, but dismissive, nonetheless, although nothing beats the eye flick of a teen. Are your earlids even OPEN? parents would shriek, certainly, but even if their earlids were open, children would remain immune to their nagging, deploying yet one more weapon against hearing much other than alert pings.

Abandoning complex thoughts on why children are the way they are in favour of thinking about fashion, our mostly faithful friend (skinny jeans and pointy shoes forgiven because it never fails us two seasons in a row). We’d definitely style our hair differently, we decide, turfing the notion of Long Hair Forever! Maybe short cut our new thing! Strangers would rave about rocking new pixie. Or, who knows – we could grow hair even longer – at least on the sides – hiding when our ears were open or closed. Sudden, urgent worry weasels in and cancels frivolous, fun hair dreams: What about our glasses and their important, long-standing dibs on our ears? Thinking about this inspires panic, so we quickly change tacks.

We’d get them checked. Definitely. Crevices would need cleaning; folds could become infected. Some of us might develop malfunctioning earlids! Babies could be born without them, or with them stuck shut. Perhaps a simple clinic procedure to solve, only rarely gone tragically wrong. A few kids would, obviously, snag fishhooks and such on earlids. Some, then growing up with only one, others enduring delicate surgeries to reattach limp, severed lids presented on ice in urgent care clinics. What kind of doctor would specialize in earlids, anyway? An entire field of practice might open up; a new, lucrative market, like ophthalmology! Hospital residents would compete for prestigious earlid rotations because earlid management both paid well and offered excellent work/life balance! Conferences in topical destinations dedicated to the novel earlid and its intricate workings would impact important medical specialty selection and funding, and once-popular fields would moan about how earlids are trending.

Wait. Would, gasp, they have little earlashes? And if they did, would we decorate them? Buy make-up for them! Get thicker, fuller earlashes glued on by the newly trained earlid techs on social media? #earlidlashart. For nights out we’d apply false earlashes. And oh my, what about jewelry! We’d have earrings, and also earlid rings. Of course we would. We’d spend hours on TikTok, scrolling trends, then more hours searching tutorials for earlid lash hacks (and then days regretting we didn’t purchase those domain names in advance).

We consider their maintenance, recognizing they might stretch after years of heavy, dangling piercings, and how we’d likely despise the sight of them, like how we (unfairly) despise stretched out lobes on older women, and – we comprehend we are too old to understand this – the younger generation who purposefully make large holes in their ears. Of course, earlids would thin as we aged, becoming less agile, opening slower, and maybe sometimes not at all. We’d plump them with fillers and Botox, obviously, our derm is always looking for new revenue streams. She did our neck last time even though it hurt like the dickens.

Earlids would definitely close while we slept, but we worry some people’s might remain half-open. We’d think that’s creepy, like how our little brother’s eyes occasionally stayed open and we’d be freaked out when we realized he was actually asleep. And, what about gently lifting the lid and pouring water in someone’s ear. Would they wake up, like that time we gently pried their eyelid and they were angry for the whole entire day and even though we said we were sorry?

Headphones would need redesigning, but this is an opportunity for Apple to figure out how to stop us from losing our third set of Air Pods, plus a massive money-maker – greater even than that of changing charging plugs. We’d need to be careful with our earlids in the cold, and wear specially designed hats and toques and mufflers so we could still raise and lower them. Because if we put something over them and they didn’t work as well, we’d be upset, especially if they were stuck shut in one position, like when we sometimes sleep on one folded over ear and wake up in searing, red-hot pain, thinking how did this happen. We gingerly unfold our earlobe and lay there, thinking how mad we are that we are that tired.

Just as we drift off, we wonder what would happen if there was a war and we lost our glasses or broke them? We firmly decide not to donate all our old frames to the charity collecting glasses for people who can’t afford them like a woman at work wants us to. As our eyelids allow moonlight to pierce skull, we acknowledge we are selfish and castigate greedy, glasses-hoarding self, and get up and put frames in box for charity and wonder if people will appreciate our fine choices. With sleep done like dinner we craft amazing plan to break into optician’s office and steal lenses if war transpires, then recall optician has no lenses on site. Attempt to pacify anxious future thoughts about post-war world children will live in by deciding we’ll go back to contacts because we won’t care about allergies with a war raging, and we know optician office has loads of contacts because we saw them in the cupboard. We’re still thinking about how we’ll source contact solution while driving headphone-wearing child to school.

Later, we hobble around grocery store, happy with functioning bladder but less happy with bruised thighs because laparoscopic apparently just means we can’t see what happened. Triumphantly, we determine yes, earlids would definitely ache in loud places like this stupid store. We imagine other noisy events, like raucous Christmas dinners with relatives shouting over music, and decide we are not inviting them even if allowed next year because we enjoyed Christmas without them (even though we said we didn’t).

We know evolution doesn’t necessarily follow logic (See: cramps, tonsils, moles, incontinence of any kind), but we’re hopeful our request is considered. We’d also be amenable to tails if that’s already in the works. Gosh. The wagging alone!