I’m not really a fan of hats. They’ve never really satiated my fashion needs. It’s ironic, although I dislike lids, I’ve worn enough of them to open my own shop. Every now and then I switch the style up and sport new ones. Throughout all these wardrobe changes it seems I’ve lost myself. Something has got to give.
I think this year, I’m going to ditch the hats and go bald headed. I might look good with a glazed dome. I know you’re like: “what the heck is this chick rambling about?” Let me clue you in. My hats are a synonym for the many different personas I’ve undertaken. Are you following me now? I’ll break it down for you.
It started in middle school. Your middle school years are undoubtedly the most awkward years in your life. You’re converting to teenagedom (yes I used a non-word), yet still clinging onto your childhood with your molar teeth. At the same time you’re trying to ‘find yourself’ amidst the pre-pubescent confusion that is your life. During these years I wore the hat of a pariah desperately trying to fit in. My family and I had just moved from a suburban area just outside the beltway, to what I deemed as the boonies. I was black engulfed in a crowd of perpetual white, I was Muslim in a majority Christian town, and I was somewhat of a nerd. Thank God for my natural athletic abilities. Without them I probably wouldn’t have made it out of middle school alive. I guess you could say I sported two toppers during middle school. One hat, my Hijab, was mandatory; and the other hat was that of a shy, weird, misplaced girl. One of these styles had to go.
So in high school I traded in both of my hats. I would come to realize later on in my adulthood that I’d made a terrible mistake; one that would cost me dearly in the near future.
I went through a lot of changes during my high school years. My family ended up moving AGAIN during my sophomore year of high school. This time we stayed in the county but we downgraded by moving to the seedier side of it. My new school was far more diverse than the previous, but the quality of students was less than meritorious to say the least . I ended up trading in my most prized hat, my Hijab for a whole new host of problems. I thought that if I unveiled myself that I would be accepted by these new kids. That was definitely a wrong move. These new kids were the worst. I quickly fell in line with the so called cool crew. My initiation into this group resulted in an instant drop in my grades, more clashing with my parents, and a newfound love of shoplifting. I traded in my studious, reserved personality for a new more rambunctious temperament. I exerted extra effort into fitting in with the wrong folks. Most of whom I look at today and simply shake my head. I wasted so much time trying to be like people who turned out to be losers. If I knew then what I know now…
This story actually gets worse. I do intend on telling you more about the rest of my hat collection, but I refuse to let this become a long winded blog post that’s actually a magazine article in disguise. I think I’ll make this a mini series of sorts. If God lets me live to see next week, I’ll be back with part two of this story.
Until next time,
Peace and Love,