Style by Association?
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(My husband), Dag, gave me a Stetson at the start of the weekend, although the conversation about me ending up with one actually began in the wash. I had put one of his hats through a cool cycle, and it came out ever so slightly tighter. Nothing dramatic. Just enough for Dag to notice because he does not like his hats tight. So, like the bear that he is, he put it on and went, “This hat is a little too tight. Has it been in the wash?” “Yes.” I didn’t miss a beat. I mean, how else do you keep these things clean?
I have seen this kind of hat on Dag for years. On him, it looks completely natural. It has become one of his signature things without ever trying to be. So when he gave me a Stetson of my own at the start of the weekend, I already knew the shape. I just didn’t know what it would do on me. Apparently, quite a lot. I have been wearing the bloody thing like I have known it longer. By Sunday, it was already appearing in photographs with the confidence of something that had been there for years. From certain angles, it looks faintly like a Penny Farthing has landed on my head, which pleases me more than it should.
I have never really pursued fashion. I notice clothes, I like clothes, but I have never felt compelled to chase whatever everybody has suddenly agreed we should be wearing. Style is different. I know the difference. Maybe I am simply at the age where I can own that more unapologetically. There are things I might once have wondered about. Can I wear this? Is it too much? Do I look ridiculous? These days the answer can quite easily be yes, possibly, and I am wearing it anyway. The hat looks good on me. I like how I feel in it. That seems sufficient.
And apparently, I like it enough to forget I am wearing it. I had deliberately worn my T-shirt underneath my shirt to the gym so that when I got there, I could just take the shirt off and get on with things without fussing around in the changing room. Which also meant there was never that natural moment when the hat had to come off. I was already on the mat stretching when I noticed. There I was, doing whatever indignity I was putting my hamstrings through, still wearing my Stetson. By then, taking it off suddenly seemed more conspicuous than leaving it on, so I committed. The Penny Farthing was now part of the workout gear. Nobody had asked. I carried on stretching.
By the end of the weekend, I had stopped thinking of it as the hat Dag gave me and started reaching for it as though it had always lived somewhere near the door. Maybe that is style too. You wear a thing, live in it a little, and before you know it, people begin to associate it with you. Apparently, this is who we are now.
Peace Be Our Journey.
Frank Malaba is a Zimbabwean writer, poet, and LGBTQIA+ activist. He is known for his works on queer identity, African masculinity, and mental health. Malaba's writing often addresses the experiences of being a gay man in Africa and the challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in the region. He has been published in several literary journals and anthologies, and has performed his poetry at various events and festivals. Additionally, Malaba is an advocate for mental health awareness and often speaks about his own struggles with depression and anxiety. He currently has two touring productions: Stories of My Bones and The Chaos of Belonging. In 2014 Frank was recognized by Mail & Guardian’s 200 Young South Africans as an Achiever in the category of Arts & Culture. View all posts by Frank Malaba: https://frankmalaba.wordpress.com/ Social media: https://linktr.ee/frankmalaba Frank Malaba Prosetry
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