Somebody off-camera did. It is a dress-up prop — velvet, glitter dots, stamped tin, a ring of crushed tinsel. It is slightly too small and it sits askew, and nobody straightens it.
He has not taken it off either, and that is the part worth watching. Not vanity. Removing it would be an event, and events invite questions. Leaving it on is quieter.
Everyone looking at him is in on the joke. He is not. That asymmetry is the whole piece — a chimp mugging in a crown is a greeting card; a chimp enduring one is a portrait.
He outlasts.
He does not escalate, defend, or explain. He waits, arms folded, until the meeting ends. The camera does a full warlord reveal around him — hard mechanical snaps, whip arcs, an enormous hero push — and every one of them lands on someone who has not moved.
The apparatus does all the work. He does none of it. At the peak, where the reveal promises something colossal, he blinks. Once. Then a banana leaf tips and soaks him, and he does not break eye contact.
A brutalist character reveal built on one collision: the most dignified camera grammar available, aimed without irony at a subject in a two-dollar prop. The lighting never acknowledges that any of it is funny. That refusal is what makes it land.