The Cowboy Hat

I’m a first-generation Vietnamese American who grew up in the deep South. I know, it’s an ironic and difficult to picture image. Apart from the fact that there are a few words that slip off my tongue similarly to a southern cowboy, most of my Yankee peers are surprised to find out that I grew up in Hattiesburg, Mississippi a town that is referred to as “the city” by small, surrounding towns near Hattiesburg. Housing an amazing array of stores such as a Super Target, Walmart, and the only hip coffee shop nearby, T-bones, many people flock to Hattiesburg on the weekends.

My relationship with home has had its ebbs and flows. Growing up, all I wanted to do was ditch this small town, but as soon as I moved to New York, it was not long until I could not stop yearning for home. I began to question if I had a mental habit of romanticizing people, places, cultures, and things I could not connect with tangibly and instantaneously. While that may be the case in some scenarios, I realized I was having an epiphany and not a fleeting feeling. I began to realize that while the South is only known for its history, that branding is only a stylish ideal without context. While the racism and ignorance should never be overlooked, there are parts of myself inevitably tied to this place. If I keep running from where I come from, I will never fully accept myself. For that reason, my favorite piece of clothing is my Cowboy hat.

My Cowboy Hat, traditionally referred to as a Cattleman’s hat, sits on my closet’s top shelf, humbly being the most respected noble amongst my other pieces. I can assure you, next to my other garments, the cowboy hat sticks out, but I think the fact that its context highlights the character and novelty of the hat is an unspoken inspiration to my younger self. As I oscillated between being a Southern American at school during the day and a Vietnamese daughter at home during the night, I was reminded of how difficult it was for my surroundings to be congruent with my internal. I grew up fighting, searching for myself.

My Cattleman’s hat has the iconic, traditional western style that consists of a tall crown with a roughly measured three-inch narrow center crease and side indentations. The brim and crown of the hat are made with light brown and yellow woven straw while the band is chocolate brown designed with light and dark brown sideways “V” stitching. The right and left side of the brim roll upward, forcing the front dip of the hat.

A Cowboy hat, for the Generation Z zeitgeist, has become an ironic and trendy symbol that twenty-somethings party in when their nights consist of chaos so outrageous, they hope, gripping onto their brims, the herd of alcohol doesn’t drown them that night. However, someone sporting a cowboy hat back in the day told a slightly different story. A blog reminiscent of the original cowboy named Connolly Saddlery says, “Cowboy symbols represent the cowboy spirit of independence and self-reliance. A cowboy lives what he believes and does not worry about conforming to anyone’s mold. Cowboys have substance, strength, and courage.” I love the line that refers to cowboys living what they believe. My style embraces everything that my cowboy hat symbolizes, being expressive yet being functional.

My clothes should never prevent me from living my life. Instead, my clothes should encourage it. The cowboy hat’s original mechanical function was to protect the cattle rancher’s while they worked in the hot, western sun. The cowboy hat, symbolic of the South region of the United States is a proud and unironic statement. The Cowboy Hat is the most hard-working piece of clothing I’ve come across. The people of Mississippi work hard and not for the same pay and benefits as residents in richer states like New York. The lack of education and resources has made it difficult for people to even begin to learn about the nuances and complexities that other states can afford to teach their children. This is not an excuse for ignorance but it’s an explanation. The original meaning of the cowboy hat resembles the grunt work that Mississippians put in when coming face to face with their state’s difficult conditions.

I’ve travelled in a spiral. As I keep going, I find myself back home, seeing the same place with a fresher perspective. I have always existed in the liminal spaces of society. I am and have always been a Vietnamese Southern American. My dark hair and southeast Asian features alone do not embody who I am fully to the external. In order to be congruent with my internal, I need my cowboy hat to accompany me.