I’m bald. I know, big deal, right? Look at Vin Diesel, he’s killing it and he’s bald. Five fucking Fast and the Furious movies? Damn son, I’d go bald for just one. It’s not so much I’m insecure about being bald, but there are a few realities you assholes with those cool Hitler Youth haircuts don’t realize about being bald. First, there’s nothing to hold your sweat back from pouring all over your face. So even if I’m not really sweating more than anyone else at the store opening, I look like Michael Jordan in the fourth quarter. When he played for the Wizards. Chicks don’t dig that man, trust me. And that’s just when the weather is warm. Do you know how much heat you lose from your head in the winter? It’s insane. A hat is a necessity for me, not just a "hey, look at me" fashion statement. I could try Rogaine or Propecia, but those things have some gnarly side effects. Did you know that they could make your balls shrink and your junk could stop working? Fuck that noise, when it comes to the showdown I’d rather have functioning genitals than functioning follicles.
The only problem with hats? Like any guy my age, I’m only really comfortable wearing baseball hats, snapbacks, bucket hats and beanies. Which means my headwear is pretty much the same as a thirteen-year-old’s. I know what you’re thinking, "What could a guy who writes for Four Pins need other than a teenager's wardrobe?" And you’re probably right. But when it’s 30 degrees out and I have a nice dinner date (hey, that’s totally possible, you assholes) I don’t really want to wear a Supreme snapback. Even if it is made with Loro Piana wool. The obvious alternative is a nice fedora or something, right? Yeah, except I’m terrified that I’ll look like that guy in high school that drank chamomile tea and wore a fedora with cargo shorts. Choosing a hat now is like being eleven all over again. Shit, I still like G.I. Joes and toy guns, but I think I might dig boobs even more. I love my snapbacks and bucket hats like I love a good Borsalino, but, just like adolescent me, who wasn’t sure how to work boobs into his lifestyle, I’m just not sure how to effectively work a fedora onto my head.
I guess finding a hat is a lot like going bald. You have to accept certain things about yourself you never thought you had to. Like, the fact that women may find you less sexually attractive because of what you have on your head.
I’ve even gone to the old man hat store in my hood because, well, IT'S AN OLD MAN HAT STORE AND IT'S AWESOME. I tried on a fedora made of beaver. After about five minutes of "I’ve got a beaver on my head," and “Damn this beaver feels niiiice” jokes, I meandered over to the mirror. I seriously looked like a fucking goofball. I hated that guy in the mirror. He looked like he insisted on listening to vinyl and cried after sex “because he’s so emotionally connected." Fuck that guy. I’m not that guy. I’m the guy in the cool polka dot snapback. That guy has an awesome Tumblr and writes with complete sincerity things like, “The hand on the shirts is amazing,” and “A truly complete Spring/Summer collection is hard to come by." Actually, that guy also sounds like a complete dickhead too, but you get what I'm trying to say here.
How come dudes like Justin Doss can wear all kinds of hats and the only thing I think of is, “Damn, that guy’s going to steal someone’s girl tonight.” WHY DO THEY LOOK COOL AND I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING ASSHOLE WHO WATCHED TOO MANY EPISODES OF BOARDWALK EMPIRE?!?!
I guess finding a hat is a lot like going bald. You have to accept certain things about yourself you never thought you had to. Like, the fact that women may find you less sexually attractive because of what you have on your head. Or, what you don’t have on your head. But to quote Mr. Ricky Rozay, “Fuck ‘em." I mean, I can’t do anything about being bald unless I want to risk the life of my balls and that's not going to happen anytime soon. And right now I can’t do anything about feeling like a douche while wearing an expensive Borsalino. But eventually, like accepting the fact that I’m bald, I will accept the fact that I like fedoras, and I won’t care that when I wear one it potentially makes women’s vaginas want to die. Until then, I’m gonna stay wearing tribal print camp caps and stupid bucket hats like I’m an extra in Clueless.
