Today has been rough. Really rough. Like, my brain has turned into tasty, tasty tapioca and I can no longer pronounce polysyllabic words kind of rough. That’s why I thought this was the perfect time to unleash one of the most pointless posts that has been sitting in my Drafts folder: A post about hats.
Is it me, or do costumers make men’s hats too tall? Seems as though in movies from the 1970s and on, the hats are often the wrong shape or size.
Even Spencer Tracy agrees with me, and we never agree on anything!
Jimmy Cagney agrees with me…
Modern fedoras just don’t seem to fit the same as they did in the golden age. Has fedora technology changed, or is this the product of evolution gone horribly, terribly awry? Are heads shrinking at an alarming rate? Even science cannot say!
Speaking of awry, I don’t even know what’s going on with Jack. His hat is pulled down too far, the brim is sticking straight out like an Ed Wood spaceship hubcap, and Nicholson has stolen Edith Head’s glasses. Give them back, Jack, they are not yours.