The days are getting shorter, panic sets in: what the hell am I supposed to wear? Of course I had all summer to think about that, but in the story of the Cricket and the Ant I am the palm tree.
The most obvious is a hood, because it’s already on my jacket, but that thing is torture. When I look to the side, my hood continues to look stiff, so that I only stick my nose in the inside. If I want to see something in that direction, I have to rotate my entire body, like I have a neck injury or am a robot from the 1950s. That is completely impossible on a bicycle. To see what’s coming at me, I have to take one hand off the handlebars and create a peephole. That doesn’t happen very quickly and what comes from other sides remains uncertain, so, well, bullshit. It’s also a nuisance on foot, because the deafening rubbing on my ears drives me crazy. That swoosh with every step drives me insane and makes me homicidal. It must be my highly sensitive constitution.
So no hood, but what is? That’s the wheel I have to reinvent every year, because I’m cold. There is much that looks bad on me, and only one thing that looks good on me: a hat. Hats look great on me. But I don’t want a hat, because a man under 80 in a hat is a pretentious bag of hay. It makes a statement. They want something. If you’re a hat-bearer, you’re the exception that proves the rule, with your panache and panache. All the other men in hats shout: Look at me. With my hat. The only advantage is that you can throw it in the air during football matches, provided it is 1924 and the rest of the stadium is also wearing hats. Otherwise you just shouldn’t do it.
The poor choice I find myself forced to make is between cap and cap. There are two types of caps: the baseball cap and the non-baseball cap. The former is our national folk cap. From stadium to golf course, the Dutch man wears a dark blue cap with the letters LA or NY on his forehead. My head isn’t sporty enough to get away with it, which I deeply regret, because I love being part of it.
Non-baseball caps, on the other hand, come in many exotic varieties. From South American guerrillas to English newsboys, from French goatherds to Canadian reindeer hunter (with ear flaps). Fun, sure, yes, creative – but they all require specific attire, appropriate facial hair and the right props like shotguns or baguettes.
So every winter I end up with a stupid, boring hat. No cheerful, brightly colored, self-knitted hat with a pompom on it, because then I also have to bring flap shoes and balloons, and I can’t fit them in every wardrobe. Also no Russian fur hat; I had one once, but then my wife demanded that I keep 20 meters away from her in the street. So I’m afraid it will be another cheap skull cap from H&M, which gets the job done but from which I simply don’t get enough experience. There must be something more stylish and chic. What would Arno Kantelberg wear…?