My hat's off

I suppose it'd be easy to think this is another post about Breaking Bad, what with the picture of Walter White, er, Heisenberg. That and the fact I'm the one writing it.

But it's not. It's actually about the hat.

On one of my Breaking Bad binges, I've lost count (9), I started falling in love with his Pork pie hat and wondering how it'd look on me. It was a rhetorical question, because the truth of the matter is no hat looks good on me.

For starters, there's the problem of finding hats that even fit me given the rather large noggin I use as a carrying case for my oversized brain.

Then there's the douche factor: I think 99.9% of guys in Pork pie hats—unless they're Justin Timberlake, Bryan Cranston, Buster Keaton or Gene Hackman in The French Connection—look like they go to eleven on the Douche-O-Meter.

My infatuation with the hat I'll never wear comes from my desire to have a style to call my own. Any style, I'm not particular. But I don't have one, and whichever one I eventually land on may not require a hat. Also, the "style to call my own" part wouldn't really apply since so many hats are being worn by guys in their own little fantasy world, where the Douche-O-Meter doesn't exist.

I think baseball caps are an exception. For starters, one size fits all. Even me. And it's considered, you know, a baseball cap—not a fashion statement (usually). Almost anyone can pull off wearing a baseball cap.

The point of all this is I've come to the realization, begrudgingly, that I'm going to have to put the Pork pie hat on my long list of things I wish I could do, but know I can't.

Of course I might have to binge Breaking Bad a tenth time to make sure.