I Lost My Blue Winter Hat

The Blue Hat And Me, Not On A Date

It didn’t look like a special hat.

Okay, it was from The North Face. So it really didn’t look like a special hat.

I bought it when I was single some oh, six years ago, because the blue matched my eyes, and everyone commented on it. You need accessories like that when you’re feeling doubtful that anyone will ever fall in love with you again.

I wore it every cold New York day for years. Through blizzards, snowpocalypses, days it wasn’t that cold, but my hair was greasy… It was the me-est winter hat I’ve ever owned.

One time I went on a date with a guy who was significantly prettier than me, a guy one pair of Crest Whitestrips away from being a TV talking head, a guy so handsome that someone might masturbate to his book jacket cover. He kissed me in the snow after we went to a dive bar that serves free Cheetos. I was wearing the hat. I was convinced it played a key part in the whole thing.

Now we’re all older. The hat pilled. I fell in love with a guy who would never kiss me right after Cheetos, which is a value I generally share. At one point, I spent part of every month in L.A. to be with him and didn’t even need the hat anymore.

I don’t need the hat anymore. I don’t ever lie down at night and feel sick with solitude. I don’t see happier people and want to photobomb their entire fucking effortlessly joyful lives with my own insecurities and regrets.

I mean, not in an abnormal way.

I wake up knowing I’m capable and loved, until the other shoe drops.

Still, I’ll miss my blue hat and maybe even who I was in it. Whoever found it in the backseat of a cab or on a street corner isn’t going to understand how special it is. It’s not just any blue hat.