Covid-19: Behind the masks

Eight months ago, who’d have imagined it possible? A 200-strong contingent of fashionistas and socialites gathered in the gardens of a biomedical institute in Rozzano, near Milan, all wearing face masks.

It is the price of admission these days, a symbol of solidarity and social co-operation, of being part of a solution, no matter how simple, flimsy, irritating and — let’s be honest — not exactly the height of fashion. Unfashionable, sure, but totally on trend.

Still, it was fashion itself that had brought this A-list crowd together in July: the introduction to the public of Dolce & Gabbana’s Spring 2021 Menswear collection. It struck a chord for obvious reasons, not least because the phrase "Everything is going to be alright" was emblazoned across one of the buildings.

The show, dubbed by some the launch of the "Covid-era catwalk", was part of an otherwise mostly digital Milan Fashion Week. Fittingly, and imaginatively, it was held on the lawns of Humanitas, a university research foundation working to develop a Covid-19 vaccine, a project being funded by the Italian fashion house.

The models, with their chiselled jaws and high cheekbones, were, mercifully, not masked. Nor was the entertainment, Italian vocal trio Il Volo, who belted out stirring lyrics from the depths of their lungs.

But when Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana themselves came out at the end, they had masks on as they circuited the catwalk. Meanwhile, each model had, instead of retreating backstage, positioned himself on a predetermined spot, so that by the end there were scores of couture-clad hunks scattered across the lawn, all physically distanced by at least 1m.

The whole gorgeous affair was a demonstration of how we live now, or perhaps how we should choose to live. And I guess the show was a symbol for the kind of co-operation and common sense our world needs: if you want to sit together with lots of strangers, then wear a mask; otherwise, keep a bit of space between yourself and the next person.

After all, if all those beautiful people can do it, surely the rest of us can, too?

And yet, if you take a look around on any given day, you’ll likely witness an absurd variety of attitudes towards masks. There are the chin-shielders; the ones who don masks as a kind of throat warmer; those who let them dangle from one of their ears; folks who use them as car ornaments hanging from their rear-view mirrors; and — shame — the ones who cover the mouth while the nose peeks out.

And, of course, there are the straightforward refusers, and their cousins, the deniers, who take their science from conspiracy theorist David Icke.

Unwitting idiocy abounds too. In a Woolworths outlet one morning I was witness to a teenage girl pulling down her mask so that she could sneeze — not into the crook of her arm, but, like some unschooled wildling, into the public space in front of her. She was right next to the fresh produce as it happened, and as I scurried towards the dairy section I managed to catch sight of a vast spray of visible mist that blasted out of her and into the air.

Who’d have imagined that something as benign as a fabric mask might become a political symbol? That something that was first recommended and eventually mandated for our collective wellbeing might come to be looked upon with such disdain, distrust and derision? That the wearing of something so obviously intended as a way forward might spawn such an eruption of ill sentiment?

While those in the antimask camp draw on anything from nutty conspiracy theories to interference with "God’s perfect breathing system" as fuel for their indignation, few on either side of the pro/anti spectrum have focused much energy on a rather more pressing question: What fabric works best?

General sentiment has been that virtually any piece of cloth over the mouth and nose is better than nothing.

Thanks to the wonder of YouTube, you can watch all sorts of experiments demonstrating what kinds of things get emitted from our respiratory tract and lungs via an uncovered mouth and nose. More difficult, though, is measuring the efficacy of different types of material in reducing the number of particles of snot, lung gunk and other forms of respiratory mucus and moisture that blast out of us when we cough, sneeze or simply talk at different volumes.

Despite what we’ve been told, the simple "hold it up to the sun" test doesn’t really translate as good science when you’re trying to gauge a cloth’s effectiveness against a submicroscopic contagion.

In fact, findings from one of the first Covid-specific studies of fabric mask efficacy have only recently been published — in August, in the journal Science Advances. The study, which used lasers to simulate particles passing through an assortment of masks and face coverings, came to some startling conclusions: "We compared a variety of commonly available mask types," it says, "and observed that some mask types approach the performance of standard surgical masks, while some mask alternatives, such as neck fleece or bandanas, offer very little protection."

Which leads me to wonder whether covering my face with a buff while running these past few months might have been a colossal waste of time. Talk about unwitting idiocy.

Fit for purpose

Here’s the thing, though: while wearing a mask at the supermarket seems as harmless as it is sensible, can the same be said of restricting your air holes while running 10km? Or while pushing weights or doing CrossFit or engaging in any huffing-and-puffing-inducing activities?

The World Health Organisation advises against wearing a mask while exercising; and even our own government, so quick to impose regulations lacking logic or merit, finally gave people engaged in rigorous exercise a breather. Runners, for example, can go mask-free in public provided they keep their distance (3m) from strangers.

Experts in the realm of fitness, meanwhile, say that while there is no serious risk from wearing a mask while exercising, doing so is likely to trigger a range of warning signs, including shortness of breath, light-headedness, dizziness, numbness or tingling. Any of these unpleasant symptoms and sensations (all of which might presage fainting) is an indication that less oxygen is reaching the lungs. You don’t say.

I’ve experienced several of these symptoms, as well as headaches, plus an unpleasant taste of what it might be like to be waterboarded because my face covering became drenched with my own sweat and consequently cut airflow altogether.

Less oxygen to the lungs means a reduced supply to the bloodstream and muscles, which makes training harder, because oxygen is what converts glucose into the fuel we need to perform. The more strenuous the exercise, the more hectic the discomfort; though punishment seekers may want to compare it mentally to altitude training (some elite athletes in fact train with oxygen-deprivation masks to increase respiratory fitness).

So, in theory, while you may battle to breathe and be slowed down at first, training persistently with a mask might improve your fitness levels. The idea is that the extra breathing resistance is giving your lungs and cardiovascular system a tougher workout, conditioning your body to metabolise oxygen more efficiently.

With all this in mind, the decision to wear a mask while exerting yourself physically comes down to choice — plus, of course, the ability to maintain distance from others.

About a month before gyms were given the go-ahead to reopen under loosened level 2 restrictions, I joined a Vinyasa yoga session set up to trial how Covid-era in-studio classes might work. Having offered online classes even before the lockdown was announced, the studio, in De Waterkant, Cape Town, had been silent for months as its instructors instead broadcast classes from their homes.

But doing yoga via Zoom in your lounge isn’t the same as sharing a heated room with a group of similarly engaged people all breathing, moving and stretching in unison.

And so, after months of cyber-yoga, a scaled-back, super-exclusive variation of the studio was imagined into existence. Whereas there might once have been 100 or so of us packing out the space for a hot, sweaty, highly energising communal Vinyasa class, now each physically distanced session permits about six to eight people to share that vast studio.

It means that, once we’re on our mats (having sanitised, had temperature checks and made digital declarations regarding any Covid symptoms), we can remove our masks and flow with our breaths.

With such a restricted number of participants, it’s pricier than yoga used to be, and it is a strange sensation to share a familiar space without the pre-and post-class socialising. But once you’re in the groove, moving while meditating, it feels terribly worthwhile.

After months apart, such intimate gatherings seem to share the same spirit that underscored the show by Dolce & Gabbana in Milan. A feeling that we humans have to find ways to live and work and play and — above all — breathe together.

They are also a reminder that wearing a mask is a conscious act. As is taking it off.