I never liked hats when I lived in England. If I had to, in really bad mountain conditions, I might put my hood up, but I didn’t even like anyone touching the top of my head, let alone stifling all my creative flow by cramming a bobble hat on it.
How times have changed. It’s not that hats are essential in Vancouver – the stupidly mild climate means that you really don’t need one until you venture to the higher areas – but I like my hats now. I have a cute little peaked cap, a flaps-down, dangly bobble hat, several quirky creations that my mother has knitted (one looks like a furry green wig and makes everyone laugh), and a few that make me look like my mother (and what’s wrong with that? There’s a woman with real style if ever I saw one).
Hats are cool. So are hoodies, especially with the hood up – it’s still menacing when worn by a grown man, but less so when he cheerfully shouts “How ’bout this weather, eh?” as he passes. My husband wears a full fur, flaps down and everything hat, like the one at the top of this page. I don’t walk with him when he does, but our neighbours don’t seem to mind.
Vancouver was recently voted one of the worst-dressed cities in the world, mainly due to our habit of chucking on a pair of yoga pants at the drop of a hat (ha, see what I did there?) That’s why I love Vancouver – people go to Safeway in their pyjamas, I live in my yoga pants on the weekend, I can go to a posh restaurant in my hiking boots and yes, everyone wears a hat.