Why don’t people like my cowboy hat?

The presence of ‘The Hat’ has already raised disputes within my family. My wife refuses to walk with me in our village, which I think is unreasonable. ‘Well, would you walk around with me if I were wearing a witch’s hat?’ she said. I know what she means, but she’s wrong. This is not fancy dress; it is a statement of style and taste and should be as acceptable as wearing a pair of Australian R.M. Williams boots or South African veldskoens.

Last week, in a Texan town called Bryan (I know, very Monty Python), I had a custom cowboy hat made for me. Now, having returned to London with my prize carefully transferred in a hatbox, I am agonising over whether I can actually leave the house while proudly bearing this perfectly-sculpted hat on my head.

My daughters have greeted my purchase with mirth and mockery. ‘So you’ll be wearing it at your desk when you’re writing,’ said one. Indeed I am. ‘You cannot go out in public looking like that. It looks like a cry for help,’ said the other, staring in horror at this beautiful object.

Yet these hats are masterpieces of style, concept and design and many American southerners I know have at least one in the house. They wear them to bars, music events and even formal dinners as naturally as we wear jackets and ties. You don’t have to be a cowboy to wear such a hat in the 21st century.

I think it must have been something subliminal that started all this, perhaps while watching all five seasons of Yellowstone, the best TV series since The Sopranos. I’m now watching it again but this time through the eyes of an erstwhile cowboy hat wearer. I’ve realised it’s all about the hats. I see that the tyrannical patriarch John Dutton’s beige Stetson with a wide, gently upswept rim speaks of power and confidence; Rip’s jet-black hat with sharply angular rim seamlessly complements his lean, mean personality; while the unfortunate Jimmy’s battered straw hat describes his chaotic, shambolic character.

So it was that last week I presented myself at Catalena Hatters in downtown Bryan, a city of 84,000 people just 100 miles northeast of Austin, to be greeted by a smart 27-year-old man named Chance Black, who assured that this was his birth name and not some professional hat-making moniker. 

I told him right away that I was still uncertain about committing to buying a Stetson-style hat as I was one of those people who look really bad in hats. It’s my face. It just doesn’t work hat-wise. ‘Everybody who comes in here for the first time says that,’ said Chase. ‘You’re gonna have to trust me. I know how to fit people; I know how to shape their hats. Yessir.’

Before we chose the appropriate blank, Chase took me through the store. He explained the range laid out in endless racks before us: the 10X is made from rabbit fur and starts at $349; the 20X is a rabbit and beaver fur blend and starts at $499 and top of the line is the pure beaver hat that starts at $899. The best is the pure beaver hat in its natural colour – no dye, no powder – and that starts at $899 and is, of course, called The Natural. I settled on a 7X, mid-priced beaver hat.

Catalena Hatters sells around 5,000 custom-made felt hats and a further 6,500 straw hats a year. They have customers all over the world and keep blocks (just like shoe lasts) of regular customers. Convention has it that you wear straw hats between Easter and Labor Day and felt hats through the other half of the year. This small, family-owned company (founded in 1983 which makes it a heritage company by American standards) in the middle of Texas is for me Stetson Central.

After an hour and a half of selecting, measuring, adjusting, steaming, shaping, Chase Black sent me on my way with a long oval beaver fur hat in pale beige, just like John Dutton’s, although his was probably a Natural. I was an extremely satisfied customer and strode out of Catalena Hatters with pride and a new-found sartorial confidence.

Now, back in the real world of my natural habitat, I’m not so sure. Could I wear it at Lord’s this summer? Daughter Two thinks the MCC would be tempted to withdraw my membership. Glyndebourne? It would probably attract discreet sniggers. Wimbledon? No. Summer theatre? Certainly not. Aintree? I’d possibly get away with it there as a novelty guest.

I’m rather hoping that this hat coming-out article might encourage other closeted Stetson-style enthusiasts to follow my lead. That way I could go out in public proudly this summer wearing my Catalina 7X Beaver felt hat and not feel self-conscious.

Sadly, I fear that will not be the case and my beautifully crafted Catalena will remain a memento, another tourist trinket, a trophy left at home, occasionally brought out at parties to entertain drunken guests. It is a sad end to a great adventure and says something about our society today. Although I’m not sure what. John Dutton would be appalled.