For years, I refused to wear hats. See, when you have hair that is generally < 2" long for a decent stretch of time, people see a hat and they think "cancer patient". So, only after many years of coaxing from friends (and the leopard fedora in 2000, Emmo) and the acquisition of a pretty spectacular scarf collection to hide growing-out hair awkwardness, have I embraced hats with a fervor.
In fact, I'm beginning to think that if it were feasible for me to sport a saucy hat for all my everyday activities, I might do so. Just look at the gloriousness of my Kentucky Derby hat, created from a 30 minute trip to Michael's Craft Supply and 35 minutes of quality time with a hot glue gun:
That's not only a gigantic, 14" high spray of peacock feather, but YES, those are two small blue and green peacocks attached to the brim. And some faux-vine, and 2 1/2 yards of orange satin ribbon. I cannot tell you how many Southern gentlemen (you can tell they're authentically Southern by the unironic use of seersucker) stopped me to comment on the hat.
Did I wear this with a peacock feather necklace, just to drive home yes, I did choose to adorn myself with showy splashy peacock feathers because I am a vain show-off? You know I did.
Me, Courtney, and Alex. Big hats mean no facial sunburn for their delicate Irish porcelain-ness.