Cowboy hats

Raúl Peschiera on fashion faux pas

If you’re in a generous mood—or you’ve had a few drinks—you can excuse the current retro fashion foolishness as a symptom of uncertain times. Some might even claim that the Goth look—all that black, all that brooding gloom—fits the zeitgeist.

But the sad truth is that going back is often bad. It can be about hankering for a mythical time when things were better, a futile kind of nostalgia that stops us from getting on with things and making the most of a modern life which, with all its convenience and variety, really isn’t half bad. Let’s face it, most of us only want to go back to “basics” if basics includes a heated indoor pool.

And with most of the past already dressed up as our future, we’re quickly reduced to scraping the barrel of yesteryear. What else can account for the return of the cowboy hat? Maybe if you’re roping horses, corralling cattle and tackling a calf in some pseudo-erotic rope play, you can get away with one. But walking down the street? Forget it. Think a folded bit of felt makes you look untamed, rugged and rock-and-roll? It doesn’t.

Well, you might say, they’re weather proof, they keep the sun off, they keep your head dry—wake up. If it rains, get an umbrella from the car, if it’s sunny, enjoy it while you can. What’s wrong with you?
Sadly, it’s not only men who fall victim. Candy-coloured stetsons with straw brims curled up so tight that they belt out “I’m a cowgirl, a free spirit” are coming soon to a club near you. They may feel like fun, heck, in a crowded wine bar, they may even be fun, but really they aren’t that far from wearing a giant foam hand with “I’m No. 1” printed on it.

Come morning, it’ll be more than just that last round of Cosmopolitans that makes you feel as though a bear has been gnawing at your temples. That deep, angry, red welt from the hat’s brim that’s curving so nicely across your forehead is testament enough.
And don’t get me started on the Aussie Akubra, which, unless you’re thin as gristle, have the temperament of a lap-dog and count your local marsupials as drinking mates, would be best buried with a dead snake. You don’t know where it’s been and you wouldn’t want to go there if you did, so leave it. It’s one hat that definitely won’t get you ahead.