Sans chapeau: 1998-2008
Hats again: 2008-present
On the day I was born, a nurse put a hat on me. I hope it wasn’t the same nurse who wrote my middle name down wrong. My mom told me when I was in middle school that, when she held me that day, she thought I looked so cute in a hat, so everyone kept putting hats on me. In retrospect, I was told a lot of things in middle school, like my name being a snap decision. Although I was “old enough” to be told some of these things, I wasn’t old enough to comprehend what to do.
That changed in phases. The first one was in 10th grade. As puberty was more or less wrapping up, I got the idea in my head that I hadn’t established who I was just yet. In the course of a rant to myself, I said something along the lines of, “I’ve been wearing hats since I was born! It wasn’t my decision, but since I’ve never gone without one, I don’t even know if I like hats!”
So I stop wearing them cold turkey.
Ma and Grandma basically said I’d catch my death of cold. This was also around the same time I eschewed slacks. I’ve joked that I’ve always dressed the way anyone sees me now, which is mostly true. But here it is, my phase in high school: T-shirts, jeans, no hat, Timberland boots and a dumpy, entirely too large for me suede coat.
Before college ended, I was back to business-casual shoes, blazers, slacks, button-down shirts and proper overcoats.
I hadn’t decided that I wanted to wear hats again, though.
Then I caught the flu and thought I was going to die. That “you’ll catch your death of cold” comment popped into my head.
I was a columnist back then, and I noted that hats preventing colds is nothing but an old wives’ tale, but I was going to wear hats again and having the flu was a factor in doing so.
And the answer being yes, I do like hats.