Hat tricks

You lost your hat. So now what? Follow these instructions and you just might have a fighting chance at not embarrassing yourself when the world opens up. Most people understand that hats come and go. You could have a seemingly well-constructed one, made of straw or cotton, destroyed by a sudden hail storm. You don't need a combover if what you have on top is substantial enough to obscure an eagle's nest. 

Going hatless isn’t an option. You know better. Would Rocky Colavito race into the outfield showing nothing but his bushy Bronx curls? Would Wolfgang Puck risk his mane entering an otherwise pristine layer of ricotta? Without a hat, Queen Elizabeth II is merely a nice old lady. There’s a famous story about Captain Cook returning to Hawaii in 1779, convinced he’d left his lucky hat (a tricorne chapeau) under a palm tree. He told his crew that he’d wear half a coconut on the way back to England. Anything was better than letting his dome get exposed to the relentless sun on an open sea. Considering what happened next, there was nothing lucky about the hat. Put it this way: there wasn't a lost and found at Kealakekua Bay. 

The first thing you want to do is check to see if you’re wearing it. This is commonly referred to as the “the classic.” Many among us have accused close friends of unsanctioned theft, ruining relationships when all they really had to do was touch their own head.  

It’s gone. Take a deep, forbidding inhale. Then let it out. I understand that for many people, hats are an essential article of clothing. You could be naked, trotting around Columbus Circle, but with a hat, you’re invincible. It’s doesn’t have to be a big hat. As long as it’s sturdy and distracting.

Before stepping out in the world, you need to accept the possibility that it may take years to find a good hat. You can find horribly made ones anytime, anywhere. Next to the postcards rack at a bodega outside Penn Station. The store owner yells at you do buy something or keep moving. He implores you to stop touching the merchandise. He knows you’re not the postcard type. Email’s your primary form of communication. That and the always reliable, “sending good vibes.” But you want something that will last. Something that you can grow into. As the old saying goes, “the hat makes the human.”

In this economy, everyone knows that hats are hard to come by. And given the decline of print journalism, it’s not easy easy to make one out of old newspaper clippings anymore. I wonder: what’s a ransom note without a glossy magazine full of double page spreads? 

The hat you need is in your kitchen drawer. Between the wax paper and the rolling pin. There might even be a loose strawberry in there, too. The one that got away. 

Take out that tin foil and get to work. Had Cook done the same he might've ended up on Mars.