Friday, March 23, 2012
What Is It With Crap Hats?
Let me state quite clearly from the outset that I’m a hat loving kind of a guy.
There’s nothing I’d rather see more than a return of hats of all kinds — bowlers for businessmen (or, given the grubby state of much ‘business’ these days, nouveau black Stetsons), caps and trilbys for blokes in general, and (because we now inhabit a chummy global village) plenty of tall Egyptian pharaoh offerings for the goils.
We could have all this. Tomorrow. But we won’t.
And so it is that our newfound zeal for hats persists solely in the domain of the idiot teen — the proud new hope for the future sadly too young in the tooth to realise that the hats they don to the nightclubs of their existence alongside the Nikes, the Hollisters and the Gaps resemble what everyone over the age of twenty-five recognises instantly as tea cosies.
I’m sure there’s a name for them, these new teen hats poised midway between rockclimber savant and wooly octupoid crock of shite, but whatever it is, I don’t plan to race to my nearest crap hat retailer any time soon and splash out fifty quid in order to look hip and cool.
I’d rather swan about the place like Chris Eubank than stuff my head up a baggy scrotal distillation of all that’s inherently spazzy about headgear.