HATS. OR NO HATS.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20362, 20 July 1934, Page 7

HATS. OR NO HATS.

Advantages on Either Side. AN INTERESTING INQUIRY. A business man, who visits Auckland at regular yearly intervals, has remarked on the number of hatless men in that city. It is his estimate that there are at least five “ no-hatters ” in Auckland to every- one in Wellington and Christchurch, and ten to one in Dunedin and Invercargill. Inquiries in the city this morning confirm this view, the obvious reason being the fall in temperature as one moves south. The hatless brigade is smaller in Christchurch, but it still represents quite a large section of the younger male population. The proportion remains fairly constant, for although a hatter said this morning that he was selling fewer hats now than a few y-ears ago, a city dry cleaner said he was cleaning and re-blocking many- more than in the past, which suggests that just as many men wear hats, but that in hats, as in other directions, theyhave become more economical. 44 Don’t Knew Why.” One surprising feature of the inquirywas the elucidation of the fact that many men, who make a practice of exposing their heads to all the winds that blow-, have not the least idea why they have not adopted the conventional headgear of other men. “ Just habit, I suppose,” they say-. Some members of the hatless brigade can advance many- reasons to support their pet idiosyncrasy'. Here are some of them : “It costs money to wear a hat.” “ A hat makes a red mark across the forehead.” “ Wearing a hat retards the growth and health of the hair.” 44 The modern felt hat does not suit all ty-pes of beauty-.” “ Whenever I buy a hat I lose it.” Some of the advantages undoubtedly lie with the hatted citizen. For instance, w’hen meeting a woman friend he can raise it gracefully instead of making that awkward compromise between a salute and a bow that lack of a hat necessitates. He can lend his hat when votes are taken up at a meeting or when the conjurer wants to make an omelette. To-morrow the hatted man will enjoy the greatest advantage of all. As he sits in one of the east stands at Lancaster Park and the sun sinks, while excitement rises, he may- tilt his hat lower over his ey-es as the sun declines. The hatless man screws up his eyes and shades his brow with his hand or his programme. The sun catches him. Everything goes momentarily black—and Tweedie slips across for a momentous try in the far corner. The bonnetted enthusiast applauds, while his bare-headed friend is trying to find out what has happened.