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Now I too know the heady swirl of God-like power the New York Times’ fashion section must feel when, sitting around their gold-and-mother-of-pearl-inlaid table sipping fine brandies, they pull a whim from the ether and foist it upon the world not just as reality, but necessity. Oh, how they must laugh thinking of the poor peon sent forth to photograph whatever random absurdity they declare ‘trend’, giggling as they bar them from reentry until 6-10 photos from the millions of New Yorkers out and about on a daily basis are captured reflecting their warped view.


Celebrities are wearing them!

They’re all over the runways!

They’ve infiltrated popular culture!

They’re on Etsy!


Lucky for poor you, I have not one but several be-pommed hats to work up quickly.

(This picture is infinitely more funny if you look at each individual girls’ expression and imagine her saying “Bitch, please.”)

Bitch, PLEASE.

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Some time last year a New York law must have passed mandating all baristas wear hats while working, because one day the folk serving me coffee are bareheaded, the next I walked in and wonder if it’s Silly Hat Day. One fellow’s wearing a rasta beanie, the other a cowboy hat, and another wore one of those Irish hats you should not wear if you’re under 50.

Eventually baristas wearing doofy toques became commonplace, even banal. Recently though, a lady at the local coffee shop took the law to the next level, flouting intent while following the letter. She donned a wee straw spectator, a teeny poof of a boater tied on with string and sporting a thin band of ribbon around the brim, a ‘hat’ 100% useless in preventing any sort of hair from floating into foodstuffs.

Tiny Straw Boater

mini boater hat

Eh, close enough.

In honor of that small bit of ridiculous haberdashery, I present this bit, the Glow Crinkle Hat, courtesy of The Handicrafter (Winter & Spring ’33-’34). Enjoy!


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I dug these patterns with considerable difficulty from the belly of the New York Public Library. I’m quite sure they sat untouched for years on their shelves, and would have quietly crumbled to fragments and dust with no one the wiser had I not intervened. As it was, in handling and photocopying them I’m pretty sure I fast-forwarded that destruction by 10 years.

Perhaps someone who has greater familiarity with general library organization can clue me in to why they bind certain books together; each volume I sought was trapped amidst seemingly random texts. One was between a German book on what appeared to be house care and a Swedish knot-tying pamphlet, another was sandwiched with several Good Housekeeping excerpts from the 60′s and practically disintegrated hand-typed minutes from some meeting of the Italian Electrician’s Guild.

On a slightly random tangent- what lies beneath the New York Public Library? If their ridiculously hi-tech screening room, with its clear glass floors and design straight out of ‘Diabolik’, is any indication, at least 5 floors of medieval stonemasonry housing a bulk of books (the majority of their collection is stored ‘off-site’-ie in a warehouse in Newark). Some delightful Goldbergian mechanism conveys them from their shelves to the survace via a series of conveyer belts and pulleys, to arrive in the hands of the bored teenagers populating the main desk. Or perhaps a race of Morlock-creatures drags them from their proper place and puts them on the conveyor belts, to be borne up to worlds they will never see.

In any case, enjoy.

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