This is my Wisconsin hat. I love this hat with the reckless, unreasonable love normal women reserve for shoes. I love the fur. I love the earflaps. I love how I feel when I wear this hat: warm, snuggly, smarter than the hatless idiots bitching that the HVAC in The Room With The Blue Ceiling must be broken because it's not 65°F 24/366.
The last two winters I've not needed to wear it--there has been no winter in Indiana when I have lived here. I wore my hat to work once last January--sartorial comfort food since it wasn't cold enough to warrant more than a knit cap--and my cow-orkers laughed at it.
LAUGHED. AT MY HAT.
They're not laughing now. Several of them openly admired it last week, when the highs were single-digits and I was toasty warm.
This morning it was -10°F when I woke up and warmed up to -8.0°F while I was drinking coffee; time to go to work. In my hat.
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