Sometimes a Hat is More Than Just a Hat

In 1962, I lived in Monmouth, Illinois (a college town), and my most prized possession was a wig hat. Wig hats were the hot fad of that year, and I had to have one. Interestingly, the wig hat hair was similar to the hair of  troll dolls, and in fact, the hair on the hat I owned was the same color, white, as my own troll doll's. That the hat was my treasure may seem odd unless you consider that ​I was 10 years old, and although not a budding fashion model by any means, I did feel quite stylish in the hat and a pair of black stretch pants which I wore nearly everyday (my mother had to sneak into my bedroom while I was asleep to wash them), so yes, they were covered in fiber pills and the knees bagged out two inches from my legs . The coolest part of the stretch pants was the stirrups that kept the pants from riding up (I assume that was the purpose of them).  But, I digress.  My wig hat was the thing, the chic thing, de rigueur. My weekly, almost daily, outfit combo of my wig hat (always neatly combed into a pixie hairstyle) and the black stretch pants (and whichever sweatshirt I could grab) was usually accessorized with a long strand or two of pink plastic beads (to complement the white hat, of course). 

I remember with bright and colorful sparkles attached to the memory the first time I set eyes on the hat that became a status symbol of such great importance, I was reluctant to take it off at school (teachers reminded me

  gently at first, then not so gently, when I stubbornly refused to remove it and stick it inside my desk or when I'd sneak it back on -- as if they wouldn't notice).  But, I digress again.  My first glimpse of the gorgeous wig hat was inside a softly-lit women's dress shop downtown.  There it was, my white beauty on a hat stand, displayed with other hairy hats of different colors - black, grey, brown. I, however, was in love with the white hat at first sight, and my mother, who was always very practical and quite thrifty, oddly purchased it for me.  I think, no actually I believe, she did so because the idea of that hat on me, a 10 year old kid who spent most of her time playing with neighborhood kids, climbing trees,  or curled up somewhere reading, amused her greatly.  

And so, with hat box in hand, I glided out of the store not touching the sidewalk with my feet and at least a block ahead of my lovely and benevolent mother.