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It’s that time of year again. Not college basketball, not Easter: I’m talking about hat season. 

I have a deep and abiding love of wide-brimmed summer hats, springing from a) my love of old-fashioned elegance and b) the ability to go partially without sunscreen for long periods of time.

Since I started in medias res, have some backstory: Boston was recently in the grip of the most beautiful weather since early last autumn. We’re talking perfection here: breezy and warm, but never overbearing. [Note: this was written last week, when it was actually warm. This week has been unpleasantly chilly, culminating in a seasonally appropriate Sunday. But this week’s weather has no bearing on this post.]

The sheer beauty can be enough to lull a person into a false sense of security. A sense, for example, of not slowly turning red during one’s lunch hour.

Hence, the need for the hat.
My hat-of-the-day brings joy not only to me, but to my coworkers. Exhibit A (from a real conversation with a male coworker):

“I liked your hat yesterday. You looked like a movie star.”

Later in the conversation: “People who get too much sun early in life end up looking like handbags.”

Hence the hat.

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