Hat brown grey pharrell in my mind cap strap

HAT BROWN GREY PHARRELL IN MY MIND CAP STRAP HOW TO

But in the before-times, I had loftier visions of freedom. Today simply leaving the house can feel like an act of liberation. ItвЂ™s strange to think how the meaning of that word, freedom, has changed since the pandemic. It embodied those starry cowboy ideals of independence of romance, of rebellion. In it, I felt closer to the cowboy life, or at least what I envisioned to be the cowboy life. Wearing my hat, I imagined I looked a little like Paul NewmanвЂ™s Butch Cassidy, or - if my hair was longer - like the late, great Texas country singer Townes Van Zandt. Though I felt foolish buying it, I also felt liberated. After all, what was I - a half-Filipino, half-Indian American, coastal city slicker - going to do with such an ornament? But I had to have it. It looked like it fit, but I was too embarrassed to ask anyone for help. I reached for it, placed it on my head, and checked myself out in the mirror. It had a leather-braided hatband with diamond-shaped silver conchos.

ThatвЂ™s where I saw it: a Stetson made of hardened shantung straw, off-white like a polar bearвЂ™s belly. Not too far away was a store that sold hats and boots and denim vests with American flags sewn to the backs. We stayed at a motel that had a sign in the lobby warning, in big saloon-style letters, вЂњWe donвЂ™t dial 911.вЂќ Affixed to the sign was a silver-barreled revolver. I bought it in Fredericksburg, Texas, during a road trip through the Lone Star State with an ex. IвЂ™m not a real cowboy, but I loved my cowboy hat.

I havenвЂ™t spent time in an outback that didnвЂ™t serve bloominвЂ™ onions or wrangled anything more impressive than a desk job with decent dental benefits. IвЂ™ve never been on a horse that wasnвЂ™t bolted to a coin machine.

HAT BROWN GREY PHARRELL IN MY MIND CAP STRAP HOW TO

Of course, a real cowboy would know how to choose a well-fitting hat - but IвЂ™m not a real cowboy. IвЂ™m not confident it would have stayed attached if I rode a horse out on the ranch or ambled off into a breezy sunset. It sat awkwardly on my head, like a Tupperware lid mashed onto the wrong container. These days, cooped up in my apartment, far, far from the range, IвЂ™ve been thinking about a cowboy hat I once owned.

Hat brown grey pharrell in my mind cap strap