Vietnamese Hat

When my husband, Frank, and I were in Vietnam in the spring for our annual Big Trip, the theme of the vacation seemed to be Hats ‘n’ Holes. We kept being led into tunnels and caves and such, and we kept donning various types of headgear, such as pith helmets in the caves (presumably to protect our noggins from falling rocks) and straw boaters when out in the open (to protect our skin from the tropical sun).

For a souvenir, Frank bought a traditional conical sun hat because he likes to take home items that are impossible to pack. As a person with a large head, I do appreciate how the hat’s design accommodates any skull size.

Most other hats feel too small for me so I rarely wear them, which probably limits me in untold ways, fashion-related and beyond. Perhaps if baseball caps, bike helmets, and gimp masks were shaped like Frank’s souvenir, my whole life could have turned out differently.

In addition to the Big Trip to Vietnam we took in the spring, Frank and I traveled to Rome and Taormina with his mom and sister in early September. The sun was still blazing, so I sported a freshly acquired straw hat for the Sicilian portion of the itinerary.

At other times during the year, I undertook two musical pilgrimages for my job as a travel editor. The first was to Westerly, Rhode Island, to gawk at Taylor Swift sites in the beach town where she has a summer house; the second was to Minneapolis to follow the purple path of Prince places in his native city.    

I don’t recall any hat-centric happenings on the latter visit, unless you count the beret-based wordplay in my oft-repeated quip that somebody should open a Prince-themed ice cream shop in the Twin Cities and call it “Raspberry Sorbet.”

To their credit, not a soul in Minneapolis found that remark amusing, and so I have had no choice but to inflict it upon you.

As for the Taylor Swift trip, no hat mishaps befell me during that one, but Frank was not as lucky.

On the day we went to Watch Hill in order to lay eyes on the pop star’s coastal manse, Frank wore a brimless beanie made of yellow canvas. He often puts this item on when he wants to convey jauntiness. I call it his Jughead hat after the trademark headwear preferred by Archie’s friend in the comics. Frank’s isn’t shaped like a crown, though.

Watch Hill is a fancy-schmancy clifftop community overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Swift’s house—the one that inspired “The Last Great American Dynasty” on her Folklore album—occupies the highest point on the rocky bluff.

We were on the grounds of the Watch Hill Lighthouse—where you can get a good view of the mansion or, if you must, the lighthouse—when a gust of wind blew Frank’s cap off his head and dropped it on some rocks just beyond a barrier that was erected either to protect people from falling into the sea or to protect Swift from her famously rabid fan base.

Assuming that was the end of the beanie, I was ready to be like, Shake it off, you need to calm down, the old Jughead can’t come to the phone right now because he’s dead, etc.

But faster than you could say I’mma let you finish, Frank had squeezed past the barrier and snatched the hat back as if it were his masters and the rocks were Scooter Braun.

The episode doesn’t say much for the efficacy of that barrier, but it does say a lot about the efficacy of Frank, who you can bet never would have let Jake Gyllenhaal get away with stealing a scarf.