I know that I have been through many fashion phases where hats expressed my ideas and feelings, my way of life, my hope for the future. Sometimes my hat beckoned to a life that was exotic, almost Mata Hari-like; at any moment you could face a firing squad, but would I'd feel gorgeous nonetheless. I often wore this to early evening events like the opera when I was new in New York and needed to draw attention to myself.

Later, as social life settled down to be more of a more constant and stable existence, and pearls in the hair gave way to silver, I became more confidant of my social position and embraced the theory of "Less is More" (although it never was, of course. You'd have to be a fool to believe that).


This afternoon I ventured to my Court-in-Exile on Lincoln Road rather dressed down. I did not want to draw attention to myself and, yet, had to express my feelings. My dress was drab, to be sure; it was nothing less than Berlin 1919, ("I Once Had Something, But Now Do The Best I Can"); you couldn't have even called it Casual Chic, because it was just drab. HOWEVER, I did what any decent white woman would do under the circumstances and "accessorized".

So, I became rather distraught when the third or fourth person come up to me and said, "Oh, I didn't recognize you with the baseball hat on." In each instance, I shot back, "It is NOT a baseball cap; it is a polo cap."

People are so blind.