Fedora the Explorer

Snap-brim Fedora.  I can't wear it!

I like to wear hats.  Baseball hats for shade and keeping the rain drops off my face, stocking hats or beanies for keeping the melon warm in winter, a beekeeper's mask for when I want to go unrecognized.  Hats hats hats.  You can show the world what team you like or what your hobby is by wearing the right hat, and, in so doing, tell the world what kind of person you are.



Those of you who know my lovely wife Peggy will not be able to name a time you have seen her in public wearing a hat.  So well-groomed and turned out is she that she will forsake warm ears for having great hair.  The most she will do is to lightly wrap a scarf around her coiffure.  The most I will do is ask her if she wants a hat, and then back up to receive a look and a shake of her head, indicating that I should know better than to even ask. 

There is the dreaded beret, so popular in France, but I wonder why.  It has no brim, and it doesn't cover your ears or provide shade.  Outside of looking vaguely European, I don't know what advantage there is to a beret.

I want to wear a fedora. 

 

Classic porkpie

But, even as I gambol about town in Orioles, Ravens, Alabama and other head coverings, I simply cannot pull off the fedora look.  For years I've wanted to be the guy with the fedora - or even cooler, the porkpie hat.  But this look seems to be the exclusive province of hipsters, racetrack touts and musicians who work with Elvis Costello.  And Elvis Costello.

I have tried, even went as far as donning a porkpie in a store, and I felt like a scornful crowd was gathering at once, demanding that I be able to name at least one song by the Dave Matthews Band before I could sport a fedora.

And I could never do that, either.  I'll see you soon.  I'll be the guy under an Orioles hat!