Hootie Hoo

On Christmas Eve, my sister and I were at the Kohl’s in Kenosha—why we were at the Kenosha Kohl’s is actually sort of a long story that involved Best Buy, iPhones, White Castle, speeding down Highway 50 at 90 miles an hour, and ultimately crippling disappointment and defeat.  But it’s okay, because at least we were full of White Castle.

Anyway, while at the Kenosha Kohl’s we came across these knit animal hats.  Joy (my sister), loved them immediately, but couldn’t decide if she preferred the panda hat or the owl hat. I told her to buy them both and that I would take whichever one she decided she didn’t want.  I ended up with the owl hat, and wore it out for the first time ten days ago.

I must admit that I was nervous about breaking out the owl hat.  I mean, it’s a knitted owl.  On your head.  It has two black buttons for eyes and actual ears (even though real owls don’t have ears… some breeds do have tufts of feathers that look like ears, such as the great horned owl…yes I googled this).  Bottom line: the hat was clearly designed to be worn by a six-year-old.  In fact, Fiona has a polar bear hat that is eerily similar, except that well…it’s a polar bear (it also has black button eyes, but its ears are SMALLER than my owl’s.  What is that?)

Before the owl’s maiden voyage, I asked my roommate her opinion of the hat.  She was not so rude as to tell me it looked stupid, but not so subtle as to hide her true feelings.  I wore it out anyway.  I was pretty sure she was right and that I would never wear the hat again, but it was very cold and I figured the hat would be warmer than my ear muffs.

I got into the elevator of my building wearing the owl hat.  An elderly Indian woman was already there when the doors opened.  She looked at me and smiled.  Then she spoke with a beautiful and delicate Indian accent:

“What a charming hat you have.”

“Thank you.”

“My goodness, a hat so delightful, it must just brighten up your whole day.”

“We’ll see—I’ve never worn it before.”

“Oh.  I am certain you will just feel happy wearing that hat.  You will certainly have a cheery day.”

I felt like my day was already off to a better start than usual. Seldom do I receive so many compliments and good tidings before 8 am.  Frankly, seldom am I awake before 8 am.  Well, sure enough, the wise old Indian woman was totally correct.  Everywhere I went all day, people noticed and loved my hat: old people with their groceries gave me compliments, babies in strollers stared at me transfixed, even construction workers catcalled “Great hat!” instead of “Nice ass.” It was amazing.

I am still pretty sure I look incredibly stupid in the hat.  My friend Josie assures me that I look adorable and am in fact, the only person she knows who could pull it off… I think she’s a liar but I’ll let you be the judge:

This is a picture of me and two friends.    I am the one in the owl hat.

I look like an asshole, right? But the whole point of this blog post is that I don’t even care!  That’s the magic of the owl hat!

Today when I left my apartment, I had just discovered my dishwasher is still infested with cockroaches, it was raining and I was carrying a massive box full of my old busted printer, which quit working after only three months.  When I finally got to my callback in Chelsea, I was not asked to stay and dance, which could have broken my poor little NYC actress heart, except that as I was leaving I was again stopped in the elevator, this time by an attractive gentleman who said, “That’s a great hat.”

I know that may not seem like much, and I’m pretty sure that the owl hat is never going to get me laid or get me a job, but it still achieves so much.  It brings joy to others and not only that, it brings a little extra bliss to my day, and gives me the confidence to be happy in spite of the city's occassional douche-baggery.  The owl hat forces me to walk down the street with a smile thinking, “What’s up New York?  You looking at me mother fucker?  That’s right, I got an owl on my head. You can try to bring me down NYC with your bugs and slush and that dead rat I almost stepped on exiting the F Train an hour ago, but I am full of goddamn whimsy.  Yeah, I said it: whimsy.  And I don’t give a hoot.”