HAVE YOU SEEN MY HEAD?
Its a magnificent melon – Melone magnifico – unlike any other.
Baseball caps – like facial hair, nipple piercing, and tattoos – may be affable accessories on some guys.
If you’re hiding something.
Or, inclined to promote a contrived image your innate character finds impossible to reveal, without overtly suggestive body adornments to make up for unknowable shortcomings.
Just like that.
Two-percent of my target audience gone.
Get back here, boys.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #1
I’m not one of those guys.
Garish embellishments don’t hang well on this astutely man-scaped, minimalist Temple of Mediocrity.
This statement makes me neither special nor unique.
In any manner.
I just have a big head.
And apologetically and forgivably, judgemental.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #2
I can’t pull it off.
Some heads – mine chiefly amongst this rarified herd of monstrous noggins – just don’t look right in a cap.
Its a matter of proportion and symmetry.
One of a disproportionately bulbous lid to the rest of my blocky, mesomorphic structure.
I suspect its immodestly larger – I’m not bragging, it just is – than the average guy’s head, though I’ve never researched it.
By research, I mean, do I really want to be the first dude who Googles:
“Hey, Goog’s, what’s the average size of a regular dude’s
I’m hopeful the classic Fedora may be the exception
And save me from living a life unfulfilled as a sad, hatless man.
Fedora’s, I like just fine.
All kinds – felt, wool, straw.
Except leather. Nah-so-much, Balboa!
It’d be swell – I mean wouldn’t it, really be swell? – to wear one like it actually has a purpose beyond a style accessory?
Like The Rat Pack in the way back days.
Not the insufferable, incurable fashion victims of this millennium … Hipster Dinks.
Can we give it up already and move on, fellas?
I’D GO FOR ALMOST ANY HAT
What works is subjective, what doesn’t isn’t.
In my myopic view, hat wearers tend to be – fashionably-speaking – attention-whoring Peacockian types.
Or just bald.
Eradicating the boundary of decorum, common sense – Did you check the mirror?– Cavalier dismissiveness.
But, really, Kuch?
I know, I’ll let it go.
Use my Super Powers for Good.
THE SIMPLEST HAT
The most common headpiece in the Western Hemisphere?
The ball cap.
A basic humble beanie with a button like a Smartie on top.
Fronted by a duck-bill visor.
It’s not me.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #3
I’ve owned several dozen ball caps.
Corporate propaganda, mostly.
99% for a day, or less.
I’ve given them away like sour candy on Hallowe’en.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #4
I’ve kept only two.
Both of which I purchased.
Thirty years apart.
ONE IS IRREPLACABLE
A charmed relic from the early-80s.
Indescribably cool – Old School Trucker Chic – with adjustable plastic back-strap.
Beer-stained, All Night Party Ambassador, Bad Hair Day Cloaking … Authenticated.
And, incriminating evidence.
If ever a CSI team slipped a thread of it under a microscope.
Or shone a black light.
THE OTHER GEM IS A DANDY SPECIMEN
Swag from the University of Virginia.
It stays in my golf bag waiting for rain.
And, more love than I could possibly give.
It deserves a better fate.
FUN FACT CONFESSION #5
My hair – my once grandiose Pompadour (ish-ery-esque) coif – is kind of a big deal.
To other people.
So, I tend not to cover it up because of its Relativity of Awesomeness and my
I’M EASY PREY BAIT TO HATERS
Bald guys – with small, imperfectly shaped
penises heads – lead the movement.
A quorum of extraordinarily observant women – unexplainably obliged and supremely confident as they are – on sharing liberally and prominently with their suggestions on what will make me Their Best Version of Myself.
Young children without manners. Pointing and giggling is never okay, when I’m the target. This is not a victimless hate crime, parents.
And, at one especially plump ginger tabby in my neighborhood.
Editor’s Note: Dear Muffy, there’s a fabulous new IAMS diet for fat lazy cats just like you. Feline obesity is serious. It affects 1 in 4 cats. You’re the One. Not the other Three. You probably ate the other Three. Didn’t you, Tuna Breath?
DESPITE CLAIMS AND PROTESTS TO THE CONTRARY
My barber will attest – I’m a generous tipper … he’s a compensated enabler – as an acclaimed proper and true gentleman’s stylist.
Its his fault.
Yes, my hairstyle has changed.
Unless you closely scrutinize its slight progression – evolution – in chronological comparisons over the decades, you’re not going to notice much year by year.
Wait ten years, and then, yeah there you go.
Darwin was on to something …
Its morphed – not always in the most eloquent of transitions – from an impossible gravity-defying peak (Conan O’Brien’s Duck-lick infusion being the Gold Standard … ) to its current itineration as a modest “Bovine-licked & Fluffed” abomination in the anterior.
It paints a readily identifiable silhouette, but has no knowable purpose beyond tradition, my fear of change for the worse, and other dubious things my therapist and attorney advise I don’t share publicly.
Meaning, you can tell its me if the only thing you see is a shadow of my head.
How cool, right?
Its thinned and receded appreciably.
As expected, but manageable.
It takes two styling agents of nearly unharmful chemical compounds to ‘Sculpt This Puppy Into Primetime Glory’.
To start, a dab of hair paste to massage every strand – except two malcontent strays – into place.
The big finish, a few pumps of hair spritz to hold the production in static position.
It’s an unfounded and cruel Myth that I spend more than
8 minutes 22 seconds sculpting this lid every morning.
“Why would I want to mask up this hair helmet with another contraption of cloth, thread, and binding?”
For sun protection, numbnuts.
Right, be smart.
WHEN IS WEARING A BASEBALL CAP ACCEPTABLE?
A few should be obvious:
When you’re playing baseball, or attending a game.
The beach, okay.
Driving in a convertible.
Women, anytime. Always, please. Sexy.
In restaurant, unless you’re on a patio.
When you like your hair.