Fedora Please

I wish men still wore proper hats. I don’t mean ball caps. Those are caps, not hats. I also do not mean an ironic hat. I have yet to meet a hipster in a pork pie who gives me the shivers. Hat wearing is not about protecting the head. Wearing a hat is about attitude.

A man in a hat is not trying to be cool. His look is complete. A man who wears a hat projects his hat wearing even when hatless. Hat men tip well. Big from Sex and the City and George Clooney are hatless hat men. Justin Timberlake is a young man in a hat. Jay-Z and Jamie Foxx are Black men in hats.

I would like a hat man please.

A man in a hat knows not every bouquet should be roses and that no bouquet should be carnations. He owns a suit and maybe even a tux. A man in a hat knows how to buy non engagement jewellery, open a door, hail a cab, mix a drink that has more than two ingredients, cook dinner and undress a woman with his eyes and leave her feeling like she won the lottery and buy her lingerie that has a crotch.

A hat man thinks your cute when you’re angry and gets a kick out of watching you rage but will never ever ask if you are having your period. A hat man is no one’s fool.

I would like to be kissed without being whacked in the forehead with a visor.

I would also like to be picked up at the door and not texted from the car. A call Wednesday for sex Saturday instead of a drunken Facebook message at 3am would be lovely.

In return for a hat man I will be a keeper.

I will not be clingy stalky needy or demanding. I will be independent yet commanding of respect. I will put effort into my appearance but I will not wear bar clothes to a hockey game. I will not gold dig and your dog will love me.

I will always open the car door for you from the inside before putting on my seat belt.

And who says romance is dead?

Hey Hat Man,

Call me