All of a sudden, there is no shame in silly hats. The lid is off the fancy dress box. Sartorial decorum on St Patrick's Day is a thing of the past. Best frock and dollop of shamrock doesn't cut it anymore.
Blame the foreigners.
For years, they came searching for that authentic Irish experience, decked from head to toe in green tat, ready to blend in with the natives - just as the man from the tourist board had promised. Whereupon the locals enjoyed a good sneer at their expense. Now we've gone as bad.
Somewhere today, in the bowels of Fáilte Ireland, an anonymous little man is doing the vindication dance. Having spent a career convincing gullible tour-operators that visiting Ireland on St Patrick's Day is like stepping onto the set of Darby O'Gill and the Little People, it's finally come to pass.
The only surprise on Saturday was that the Taoiseach didn't arrive at the GPO grandstand wearing a "Kiss me, I'm Irish and Running for Election" hat. Then again, such was the luminosity of Bertie's green tie, a passing satellite could have pinpointed his exact location from a thousand miles above. But it was all in the best of good fun. With off-licences in the city centre closed until afternoon, a mood of merriment bubbled along the parade route - mercifully devoid of that air of drunken menace which marred the party in recent years.
It was bracing St Patrick's Day weather, with the wind sharp enough to skin a samba drum and straighten the percussionist's dreadlocks. Teenage cheerleaders from American High School bands marched confidently through the cold, encased in tights shiny and sheer in a shade known as dynamite. Upon closer inspection, they were thick enough to be bombproof.
Before the parade began, the commentator in O'Connell Street got carried away. "The sun is splitting the stones," he cried. "What country is that fella in?" shivered a granny at the crush barrier.
It started late. "President McAleese is on her way from mass in the Pro-Cathedral," explained the commentator. This met with great approval from a group of Americans in front of Penneys, who all but curtseyed.
The Lord Mayor of Dublin, Cllr Vincent Jackson, arrived in his state coach. The beautifully restored, gilded carriage dates back to 1791. He was followed by parade Grand Marshall Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh, who arrived under a different type of horsepower - in a flashy Lexus convertible sports car.
The theme of this year's festival parade was "Legendary". Who better so, than the bould Micheál, to do the honours? But he wouldn't have looked right, sitting on his own in that silver sports convertible - a flashy aspirational vehicle for the mid-life crisis brigade. So he didn't.
Micheál made his stately progress at the head of the parade with his missus, and what looked like 40 grandchildren, waving from the car's straining interior.
Multicultural was the magic word. Midway through the parade, the Taoiseach left his seat and raced down the road to be interviewed on a special gantry erected above the parade route.
"It's great to see all our new Irish from across the world dressed up in green. They all come out and enjoy our St Patrick's Day," he said.
Among the huge crowd, the number of non-Irish nationals enthusiastically celebrating their adopted country's big day was striking, and wonderful to see. They entered into the spirit of the occasion - dressing up, painting their faces, flying the flag.
The willingness of the immigrants to embrace the festival seems to have rubbed off on the more blasé homegrown revellers, who are now rapidly catching up in the funny hat department.
So Saturday belonged to the New Irish and the New Oirish. One group cheerfully entering into the spirit of the day without the cultural baggage, the other taking that baggage and stitching it into cheesy leprechaun suits.
Ireland's growing diversity of culture, language and nationality was reflected in the parade, a fact the organisers were keen to emphasise. It made no difference to the children, who just stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the passing pageants.
The themes - hard to divine without explanatory notes - took in such diverse subjects as Wild West monsters, Pirate Queens, the Flight of the Earls, Kings of the Congo, an 18th century Punjab ruler and Midas.
The Dun Laoghaire Institute of Art and Design included a damsel in distress in their show. A glamorous lady with plunging neckline and cascading blonde curls sang about needing a hero. Two garda detectives at the VIP stand gazed, transfixed, as she passed.
"Is that a man or a woman?" one asked the other eventually. "Eh, not sure," replied his colleague, as their heads swivelled slowly, following the float.
The blonde was Miss Panti, well-known drag-artiste and a former Alternative Miss Ireland. Hail, Glorious St Patrick!
All the bands were wonderful. The Horizon marching band from Colorado got one of the biggest cheers. They marched in the parade, even though their instruments were left behind in an airport mix up. "If they had their instruments with them, they would have played Danny Boy and How the West was Won!" trilled the commentator.
With an emphasis on quality rather than quantity, the parade didn't take half the day to pass. Then, the jester hats, Viking helmets, Stetsons, bowlers, trilbys, kiss-me-quicks, tinsel hairbands, spring-sprong antennae, green Shrek ears, feather boas, shamrock-shaped glasses, tricolours and inflatable hammers headed off to find more fun.
The New Irish and the New Oirish. Having a grand day out.
