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Apr 01, 2024

COLUMN: I don’t have hat hair ... or a hat head

I just can’t wear hats. No, I don’t have a medical condition that prevents me from wearing them. Neither do I have some religious or moral issues with wearing hats. It’s just that — well I don’t have

I just can’t wear hats.

No, I don’t have a medical condition that prevents me from wearing them.

Neither do I have some religious or moral issues with wearing hats.

It’s just that — well I don’t have Hat Hair.

Nor do I have a Hat Head.

I know folks who don all manner of head coverings and look just fine. In fact, they look downright spiffy. One has a knit derby perched sportily atop her head, as cute as can be. Another wears a classy fedora, in the words of Carly Simon, “strategically dipped below one eye” and is the epitome of sophistication. And then there’s the brimmed hat with attached scarf that keeps head, ears and neck warm and still looks chic.

Some even have a “signature hat” like Smokey Bear with his ranger hat or the Cat-in-the-Hat. One look at that tall, red-striped hat, and folks converse in rhyme—imagine that. Carmen Miranda had that big pile of fruit on her head and still looked fabulous.

I’m glad I didn’t live a century or two ago. I would have looked horrendous in a three-corner colonial hat or a coon-skin Davy Crockett kind of hat. Sadly, I simply couldn’t wear one of those wonderful southern-belle, floppy brimmed hats with all the ribbons and flowers. And bonnets? Without a Hat Head and Hat Hair, the look would simply be out of the question.

Moreover, I would be in big trouble if I had to wear a hat for a living. Take a look at those palace guards at Buckingham Palace. How much do those fur hats weigh? And how hot are they in summer? Do they have a winter hat and a summer hat?

Then there are the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, all the armed services, drum majors, policemen, firemen, baseball and football players, fast food workers and the list goes on. All wearing hats.

And me without a Hat Head. Or Hat Hair.

Whenever I don any kind of hat, my fine (not to be confused with “mighty fine”) hair gets smooshed and goes completely flat. To wear a hat, one must have hair that springs back into shape regardless of how long it’s been confined. Neither do I like that telltale ridge around my head that looks like I had a bowl on my head—like that guy who puts on a ball cap when his hair is still damp.

Nor do I have a Hat Head, one with a high forehead so that a brim doesn’t drift down in my eyes. For winter, I thought about simply covering my ears with a bright headband. Most are far too wide, and there I am again with my eyes covered. I’m guessing this has to be a safety hazard.

My husband thinks I’m overthinking. He regularly chimes in that I “should just throw on a baseball cap. You look cute wearing one.” That is certainly the case with many of my friends, but for me? Not so much.

In the end—rain or shine, hot or cold—no hats for me.

Besides, as author P.J. O’Rourke put it, “A hat should be taken off when you greet a lady and left off for the rest of your life. Nothing looks more stupid than a hat.”

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