Occasionally, I’ll get an older white gentleman who just can’t accept me wearing my hat inside. You can see it on his face. The twitch. The jaw clench. The eyes going to my head like I just set his flag on fire. He’s got that look that says he’s about to say something. And sometimes he does. Because they always want to. Because the entire point of their existence is making sure everyone else knows the rules.
Sometimes they come up to me ‘man to man’. Like they’re doing me a favor. Like they’re being real polite about it, giving me a chance to correct my mistake before things get ugly.
They’ll say something about respect. About tradition. About how they were raised. Sometimes they’ll lean in a little, lower their voice, like this is between men, like I should already know what’s coming next because some code got passed down to me too and I just forgot to check it at the door. And you can see it in their eyes, the absolute certainty that I’m going to comply. That I’m going to say oh, my bad, and take the hat off.
Because that’s how it’s always worked for them. That’s what they were promised.
Sometimes they don’t even come themselves. They’ll send a daughter. A wife. A friend. Like you’re a restaurant complaint they’re too important to make themselves. Like the hat is a disturbance that needs to be managed by whichever woman or subordinate is handy. And those people always look embarrassed about it. They know it’s ridiculous. They know this isn’t about respect. But they’re doing what they’re told because that’s how it works for them too. Somebody hands them a job they never applied for, and off they go, apologizing on behalf of a man who isn’t even willing to open his own mouth.
But here’s the moment that makes it worth it.
It’s when they realize you don’t automatically owe them.
The change in their eyes. Not anger. Something else. Disorientation.
A dog that just found out the floor isn’t real.
They were taught that respect was owed to them when they became ‘the elder’. That their mere presence, their age, their whiteness, their gender, meant something. That they could walk into any room and count on a certain performance from the people in it.
And here I am. Just standing there. With a hat on.
Not performing the deference they were promised.
And now they’re pouting about it. Not processing. Pouting. Because the promise was broken. The promise that said if they followed the rules, if they worked hard, if they did the things they were told to do, they would get respect. Automatic respect. Unquestioned respect. And now here’s some asshole with a hat on inside, and the whole thing is falling apart, and they can’t figure out why.
While they were sitting there worrying about not getting respect from a hat being on or off, racism and bigotry and misogyny and trickle-down and all of this other worse fucking shit was getting ignored. Somebody’s rent went up while they were rehearsing their little speech about tradition. Somebody’s kid went without healthcare while they practiced the disappointed dad voice in the mirror. Somebody was fucking lynched!
None of it registered.
None of it ever does.
A hat, though. A hat gets the full performance.
That’s the trade they made. That’s the deal they accepted.
Hats mattered. Everything else didn’t.
And I’m so fucking tired of it. I’m tired of the mental cost of being policed for bullshit. I’m tired of the constant performance required for someone else’s comfort. I’m tired of the energy that gets spent on nonsense that could be spent on anything else that actually matters. I’m not angry. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.
This isn’t about there being no value in any social norms. I’m not saying every rule is stupid. I’m not saying nothing matters. I’m saying the prioritization is absolutely fucked. I’m saying the hierarchy of concerns is completely wrong. I’m saying they chose to care about hats and they chose to ignore everything else, and that’s a choice, and it’s the wrong one, and I’m done pretending it’s not.
The hat stays on.
Not because I’m being defiant. Not because I’m making a point. Because it never should have been the thing they cared about in the first place.
They wanted my respect. They just didn’t want to earn it.
And now there is a dying generation spending their remaining golden years pouting about that broken promise.
Not processing.
Pouting.
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