
August 26, 2004. Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. My brother bought two hats at a store during a buy-one, get-one 50% off promotion. For my birthday, he gave me a bright blue, unstructured Chicago Cubs cap from Twins Enterprises.
It was just what I was looking for.
Since I started fly fishing, I had worn a number of hats. The guys on Saturday mornings wore hats, so I knew that I needed to as well. Early pictures of me on the river show a mixed bag of sports teams and conventional tackle hats. In the photo of me holding my very first trout on the fly, I’m sporting a black and gold Zebco Rhino hat. Flat billed and high crowned in 1998, I was cool before cool was cool.
As I became more steeped in the culture of fly fishing, I realized that any old hat would not do. I had to spend more money to wear something that made a statement. Obviously. I went to Orvis and bought a super-drab, tan and olive hat with a brook trout stitched on the front. The bill was a little long and the metal clasp on the back started to turn the back of my head green after a few months, but it was a legit fly fishing hat. I wore this all throughout high school and into college. It got gross from sweat, creek water, and whatever chemicals come off frosted tips. It was the 90’s, after all.
Then in college, I began to do some sales for a small fly rod company. They sent me a hat, and I felt obligated to wear it. I had sold out, and I knew it. My head was a billboard. Honestly, I doubt any of the rods I sold came as direct result of someone looking at my headwear and making a decision to buy an expensive fishing pole. It was a dark period for hats.
Around this time, the super-nasty, beat to a pulp, scratched brim, dumpster hat was a thing among college guys. And guess what I was. One could walk into a Lids and buy a pre-scuffed hat, but that was the do not pass go, do not collect $200 poseur move. I wanted that hat, but I wanted it on my terms.
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