A thoughtful and intelligent essay, as yours normally are, FNB. As someone who wears fedoras pretty regularly, I think there are two perceptions at work here: one is that it is "retro costum-ish" differing in degree only from such obsolete numbers as the topper and the bowler/derby. (I think the Homburg would fall somewhere between these two and the fedora, but then I wonder how many people would be able to differentiate between a homburg and a fedora.) Consequently, it is seen as "old-guy-ish" in a youth-obsessed culture. Since I am an old guy and no longer particularly concerned with chasing women, this is immaterial to me, though. I would add that my wife dislikes my fedoras.

I am speaking here obviously of "dress" hats. Cheap fedoras (typically made of wool felt) with an "outdoorsy" configuration are not particularly stigmatized when worn an outdoorsy context for protection against sun or the other elements.

The second prejudice against the fedora is the association with gangsters. Wear one with a suit, and you are thought to look like a stereotypical movie mobster. Several times when I have been wearing a suit and hat, people have said that I looked like a gangster. And, no, I wasn't wearing a black shirt and white tie or anything like that. Come to think it over, I have thought that I had at least a passing resemblance to Bugsy Siegel when I was younger.

Anent the topic of gangster activities in SoCal, I rather regret never having patronized Mickey Cohen's haberdashery on Sunset Blvd. while I had the chance. My family always regarded "poor, little Mickey Cohen" rather sympathetically for whatever strange reasons.

The closest I came to that world was that while I was attending Bel-Air Town & Country School in the 8th & 9th grades, one of my most frequent dancing partners was Cheryl Crane, Lana Turner's daughter, who stabbed Lana's boyfriend mobster Johnny Stompanato to death as he was quarreling with Lana. This occurred a couple of years after I knew her.

She later turned lesbian. I have sometimes wondering if getting her feet trodden by mine ("inept" is an understatement when it comes to describing my dancing) may have helped push her into going the sisterly route.

I fear I am too old and too North European-looking to try to pull off a "gangster look," be it the "bold look" of the late '40s or anything else. I am much too old (to say nothing of being too married, alas!) to be putting the moves on somebody else's girlfriend. If they're old enough that I could challenge them with confidence, I probably wouldn't be interested in stealing their women. Hugh Hefner would be an obvious exception, but I am sure he has plenty of muscle at his beck and call for moments like that!

I think the original import of my first post may be getting lost. I certainly was never striving to look like a gangster. I was wearing reasonably conservative, contemporary suits and accessories. The mere addition of the fedoras was enough to transform such mundane (if reasonably elegant, I like to think) apparel into "gangster" clothing in the eyes of the beholders, unsophisticated though they may have been.

Last edited by JLibourel (2006-05-03 15:57:39)

Growing up in the 1950s, with a grandfather and father in men’s retail, I simply assumed that when I became a “man” I would wear a hat.  Then, in 1961 when I was in my mid teens, JFK gave his inaugural address sans his (top) hat and that date is commonly marked as the end of hats as an essential element of a properly dressed man’s attire.  Consequently, though following my family’s motto, “Think Yiddish, dress British,” in all matters sartorial, I went about bare headed–especially bare after I lost it all on top–in all seasons and manner of weather.  Then, one day about twenty years ago, I tried on a Donegal newsboy cap in an Irish store and have scarcely been uncovered outdoors since.  My wife is of a younger generation, but nonetheless loves me in all kinds of hats except, ironically, newsboys.

I wear fur felt fedoras, trilbies, stingy brims, porkpies, etc. in fall and winter and all manner of straws in spring and summer.  Indeed, I virtually always don some sort of hat when leaving home, no matter my activity or my attire’s formality or lack thereof.  For example, last weekend I helped a friend move heavy furniture around in her dusty basement and wore old snap brim panama with black ribbon atop my black tee shirt, well-worn carpenter jeans (held up with red galluses), deerskin work gloves, and steel toed work boots.  I had not thought about it until another old timer there said I reminded him of pictures of construction workers from the 1920s-30s; but everything worked perfectly for the task, particularly the hat which kept the dust off my head and out of my eyes and warned me whenever I came too close to overhanging pipes, ducts, and beams.

Today is work but no court, depositions, or the like, so casual dress.  I chose a dark tan coconut straw Borsalino with pinched, tapered crown, wide turn down brim, and gold ribbon to wear with a black plain weave silk camp shirt printed with small gray and gold geometric pattern, mid gray tropical worsted trousers (pleated, cuffed), brown alligator belt, and walnut split toe derbies (and black/gray mini check lisle socks, for the sock discussion).  Tomorrow, who knows; but I’ll be wearing a hat.

My work and social life put me in contact with a wide range of adults of all ages, races, and educational and economic strata; and I am often complimented by both women and men on my attire, only occasionally with specific mention of my hat.  In other words, the hats do not stand out on their own.  My favorite recent experience is with a bus driver, a middle aged African American man, who has taken to calling me “Old School.”  The rare negative comment is usually from the sort of person a compliment from whom would likely cause me great sartorial distress.

I do not urge anyone else to wear hats.  I, however, am quite content that my head is never too cold, too hot, too wet, or to wind-blown (I still have some hair).  Directly on topic, my hats reside carefully nested on shelves in a cabinet that also is home to my sweaters.  Caps, even a few baseball (sized and closed back, naturally), are on hooks in various closets.

I presume Horace is alluding to a fez as a smoking hat--keeps the hair from getting stunk up. It was quite popular in this role a few generations ago. The cartoon character Major Hoople frequently wore a smoker's fez. I seem to recall having seen some for sale a couple of years ago when I did a web search looking for them.

Last edited by Vaclav (2006-05-13 16:58:45)

Is there an unspoken rule suggesting not to wear straw panamas with a woolen suit? Is linen or fresco fabrics more appropriate with straw lids;  felt lids with wool suits?