Can we talk about hats? Like as a fashion statement. I like a hat. I really really do. I envy those airport paparazzi shots of Hollywood starlets looking all cool after a trans-Atlantic flight sporting a jaunty hat and sunglasses. It looks good. I treasure the image of my grandparents out for the day circa 1964 in camel hair overcoats and matching fedoras. Its a pretty bad ass silhouette.
But I just can’t do it.
I own hats. I think I even look good in a hat. But I can’t. I feel like a douche. Maybe if I moved to Europe, I could reinvent myself and incorporate the hat into my daily street style rotation? Is that it? Would that work ok? Otherwise, I’m the lady with the hats in the closet collecting dust.
Maybe I should have been born into royalty, then I would feel more free to express my hat love more openly. Good for you Katy Cambridge, you lucked out to marry into a hat wearing family. Go for it sister. Expand your horizons beyond that little fascinator and rock out a wide-brim why don’t you? I know people judge you for what you wear but you can actually pull that shit off.
The truth is that a hat is a pain in the ass. They are a nightmare to pack (I’m looking at you Mr. taking up half an overhead storage bin with your Tilley Endurable). They make my forehead itch. And seriously, when we’re inside and need to take the hat off – HAT HAIR. WTF! Any minuscule amount of fashion props we’re getting for rocking a great hat goes immediately out the window when you’re sporting a crushed blow out.
So, I guess I’ll just save you my precious for a day at the beach. The rest of you are getting donated to the School for Johnny Depp impersonators.