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The Man in the Hat

An accidental identity

By Michael HalloranPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 7 min read
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The Man in the Hat
Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash

I became ‘the man in the hat’ through circumstances beyond my control.

With hindsight, however, I now understand that there have been several main influences:

My parents

I can partly blame (or credit) my parents for the inadvertent adoption of this persona.

Blame, in the sense of their voices roiling in my subconscious from more than five decades ago, as they repeated over and over the mantra to always wear broadbrimmed hats whenever out in the Australian sun.

Credit, in that they had the good sense to be ahead of their time with their understanding of the dangers of UV rays.

Thank you, Mum and Dad.

By Christian Bowen on Unsplash

But I still maintain that it is largely an accident that I am these days readily identifiable to many as ‘the man in the hat’.

Work

The school where I have worked in recent years has undoubtedly reinforced my hat wearing persona. This school strictly enforces hat wearing for not only the students but for teachers. It follows that for many students at the school where I have taught in recent years, the hat is part of me. After all, teachers are role models and I believe in the power of positive role models. So, I wear the hat. Because other teachers also wear caps or hats, I’m technically not ‘the man in the hat’ but ‘a man in a hat’.

Outdoor exercise

I’m the man in the hat to other people exercising in the forest near our home. They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. I know the regulars only by the nicknames which I privately associate with them: ‘Gorby’ (for the older guy who looks like Mikhail Gorbachev); ‘Murakami’ (for the middle-aged Asian man who reminds me of a dust jacket photo of Japanese author Haruki Murakami); ‘Olga’ (a tall lean lady of indeterminate age and Slavic appearance who jogs for hours); the ‘Phantom’ (another extremely fit guy of indeterminate age who dresses like the comic book hero).

And a few others.

To them, I am simply ‘the man in the hat’, a middle-aged curiosity in exercise gear wearing an akubra-style, leather-look, hat.

In their eyes, I'm certain that the hat has become synonymous with me.

I have become the hat!

It is the most identifiable thing about me – and yet I survived more than 50 years without this particular style of hat. It is a relatively recent addition to my identity.

By Fitsum Admasu on Unsplash

My partner

The accident of the hat persona goes back to a day 7 or 8 years ago in a pretty fruit growing district in the cooler mountains of south-east QLD.

Every two years the town at the centre of this district has an Apple and Grape Harvest Festival to celebrate … yes, apples and grapes. I have not attended all of the festivals but have attended many.

I was attending this particular one.

By Dane Deaner on Unsplash

It was a fine hot day, one of those days where the sun burns skin quickly through the rarified, high-altitude air. I was in a new relationship. This, combined with my pride, meant that I was behaving out of character. I had not brought any sort of hat with me for the occasion, a rarity for me.

I would normally put ‘pride’ down the list of my priorities and instead prioritise ‘long term vanity’, in the quest for a face without sun damage. But I was yet to know my new girlfriend’s reaction to me wearing a seriously unattractive hat and I didn’t want to frighten her away yet.

Hats suit some people but not me. A cap is marginally more acceptable, but caps are not much use, to be honest. I ask you: what about the sun coming in from the sides?? And the back of the neck? A cap is not much use.

If one is to wear a hat, surely it needs to be more functional than a cap. I might as well have worn a beret as a cap, and that would have looked similarly unattractive on my substantial head.

My girlfriend has a darker skin so I assumed that she might not be as SunSmart or fanatical as some of my fairer skinned friends were.

I understood my error immediately when she arrived that morning wearing a broadbrimmed hat which somehow enhanced her beauty. She proceeded to apply sunscreen.

She then looked at me.

‘You need a hat. A broadbrimmed hat’, she said.

We were standing near a row of stalls when she observed this. One of the stalls was the brainwave of a person who understood the psychology of festival goers who did not bring hats and then realized that they needed one as the day wore on.

It was a hat stall.

There were all types of hats on display and the prices were reasonable for people without much choice. There were a range of caps, berets even, but also a varied display of men’s broadbrimmed hats.

There were white, Panama-style hats. Wearing one of these would make me look like my dad. Or even a Mario brother, perhaps an aspirant for a pasta ad. Anyway, I already had a Panama hat stored somewhere, bought while travelling in Italy a few years before. I wore it then but always felt confused about my identity. Was I a landowner in 1950s rural Italy, perhaps?

This hat wasn’t with me today anyway.

Tip: A hat that isn’t with you is no use at all.

I ended up selecting, with her advice, a chocolate colored, leather-look (was it leather?) hat. I couldn’t imagine myself in it, but she said it suited me and it was probably best if I accepted her opinion.

I paid and that is how I became the man in the hat. This particular hat, anyway.

I stopped worrying about whether it looked good and just went with it, whether I was teaching and walking between classes, or whether I was in exercise gear and walking/running in a forest.

I took it to the UK for a 7-week hiking holiday. A few of the photos look fine. The ones that don’t have nothing to do with the hat but more with my facial expressions (there are some photos that should not be seen by any other human beings).

I don’t like being photographed.

So, I became the ‘man in the hat’ by accident, with perhaps a little help from my girlfriend and my parents.

Thank you to those people.

Certain contexts and my pride mean I sometimes eschew the hat. Generally, however, I don my hat if I know that I’m going to be exposed to UV rays for anything more than a short period.

Having fun with the hat!

I sometimes think of ridiculous titles for books and films involving ‘the man in the hat’, just to amuse myself while exercising.

‘The Man in the Hat Comes Back’, a children’s picture book (apologies to Dr Seuss).

‘The Man in the Hat Goes Quantity Surveying’, a brief BBC comedy skit (apologies to Monty Python).

‘The Man in the Hat Strikes Back’ (for those who remember the original Star Wars movies).

You get the idea.

If I’m giggling to myself as I think of absurd titles involving the hat, I stop immediately. Nobody should have to witness a middle-aged man in exercise gear and a big hat running up a hill giggling out loud.

I’ve learned to own the new identity and feel very comfortable being the ‘man in the hat’, however. I have even used it as a profile pic on a certain writer’s site. Vanity is vanity, after all, and, although I am not at all religious, it is often said that pride cometh before a fall.

In the final analysis, it is better to wear the hat than to have cancers excised from one’s face years down the track.

Accident or no accident, I have become ‘the man in the hat’.

Humor
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About the Creator

Michael Halloran

Educator. Writer. Appleman.

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