Do you know the hat department at Bergdorfs?
I remember when it was flourishing, albeit two decades ago. That’s where I bought my fabled Treacy trilby and every time I visit New York, I make my pilgrimage there, but lately I’ve come up empty, with only a wee sprinkling of hats scattered few and far between the thicket of bags.
Sometimes, though, a sprinkling can yield more than a shower (dropping the metaphor now; no worries), as I was pleased to catch a glimpse of Eugenia Kim’s fall collection.
Her wool felt “Caterina” cat-ear beret was not yet in store,
but her “Joey” marled felt baseball cap was.
I’ve been coveting a “jockey” cap ever since I saw Burberry Prorsum’s perfect straw brims with pompoms, and a chic baseball cap might take second base in a pinch hit.
The “Joey” cap was, however, no match for my famously large head. I stomped my feet in fury, shed a cross tear or two, and then came to my senses. Oh Joey, I’m not angry any more.
Neither is Concrete Blonde, in their angsty 1990 song “Joey.” (I also sang it this spring with our faculty rock band in concert.)