Bigwiggery

‘Bigwig’ is a favourite word. Its internal rhyme and firm consonants make it a pleasure to say. But its best feature is the visual imagery it conveys. This comes from its straightforward etymology - early 18th century, so named from the large wigs formerly worn by distinguished men.

Was it the case that the bigger the wig the more distinguished the wearer? Or did those with delusions of grandeur suffer ridicule for presumptuously lavish headwear? Perhaps the real swinging dicks sported tiny wiglets as an expression of their power?

The plural holds greater delights, for when circumstances permit its use there’s more than one bigwig about, and nothing is more risible than a gathering of them, for the inevitable result is bigwiggery.

Bigwiggery is on display each morning Federal Parliament sits when a line of taxpayer funded limousines idle, each waiting in turn to deposit its puffed-up occupant.

Ricky Gervais knows a thing or two about bigwiggery. Witness the delightful scene in Extras when he is finally admitted to the celebrity area in a nightclub, indistinguishable from the area available to the hoi polloi, other than for the rope surrounding it.

But real life examples delight and appal just as much.

A favourite occurred at the unveiling of the statue of the New Zealand soldier on the ANZAC Bridge in Sydney, the companion to the Australian soldier on the other side of the road. Bigwigs, in the form of State politicians and senior bureaucrats were present front and centre near the statue. Onlookers, including relatives of fallen veterans, some of whom had flown from New Zealand, were prevented by police from getting too close and were relegated to positions behind barriers out of earshot of proceedings and with the statue almost out of sight.

That’s bigwiggery at its very, very best.

From opening of a playground to a blockbuster's premiere, bigwiggery abounds.

Notice of further examples will be gratefully received.