Straw Hat Attack

Now that the unofficial start of summer has begun, one of the most heinous of fashion crimes is back and hitting the streets in full force.

I'm talking about the straw hat. Unless you husk corn for a living or plan to skip down the Yellow Brick Road in the near future, you have no business wearing a straw hat.

"Who be biting my Straw Hat Mafia style?"

I hate this trend with a passion. A wierd impulse threatens to take over me when I'm on 34th street and I see yet another tourist wearing a straw hat. I just want to rip it off their heads and cry, "All that straw gave up their lives for this?!?!?!" Believe me, New Yorkers are not safe either. It makes as much sense as wearing chaps to your local Duane Reade pharmacy. So if there's a New Yorker wearing a straw hat (and there's many), their membership is revoked. As of now. By Me.

That's right. I'm the President of the Anti-Straw Hats Association. It's origins began in 1998 in the Hamptons, when it was formerly known as the I Hate Straw Cowboy Hats Club. That's when I spotted my first Trust Fund Baby trying to pass themselves off as a member of the bourgeoisie. They were wearing a straw cowboy hat while buying a magnum of Cristal for $500 a bottle at Jet East, charged onto daddy's black Amex card. TFB, hear me now - unless you're planning on trading in your Z4 for transportation of the four-legged, grass-eating variety, banish that hat to Accessories Hell. NOW.

Now, almost ten years later, my hatred has grown to include straw hats in general. If you wear a straw hat and we know each other personally, my apologies in advance. Because they're hideous. If you're wearing one in front of me, I will smile pleasantly while mentally slicing and dicing your straw hat to shreds. Straw hats make me two-faced that way.

If you need more convincing, I present to you my first and last piece of evidence, which should really settle any remaining doubts you may have about the stylishness of this item.

Don't. Just don't.