The men wear bells at their waists, so that their every movement is fragrant with music. These reflect the harmony that comes from right-thinking, and are meant to be invisible personal reminders, a dab of perfume under the nose to spur contemplation and quiet dedication.
This is not the case. Here there is status, here there is competition. The men are creatures of fad and fashion. Now the taste is for the small and delicate, and so they vie with each other to have the smallest, the airiest, the sweetest melody. Now the taste is for the gaudy and glittering, and woe betide him who dallies with the bells of his youth. Him they shun, with all the delicate refinement of their breeding. A silence envelops him, pure silence, broken only by the outdated tinkling of his bells.
It is only the wealthy who wear the bells. Some of the men claim that this is because only the wealthy have true dedication; others that they no dedication at all. It is a subject for much well-mannered and enlightening debate, though there can be no true resolution, for the men are all agreed that such matters are unknowable.