The Art of Being Distinct

March 2025

We all possess certain characteristics that make us stand out from the crowd, especially when it comes to unique personality traits or quirky behaviors. Is there something about you that visually distinguishes you from the norm?

As a child, I was enraptured by the fact that my granddad—who by day was an auto mechanic and wore greasy coveralls—looked like a dashing movie star whenever he escorted my grandmother anywhere. Born 125 years ago, my grandparents lived in an era when people dressed up to be seen in public. While my grandmother always carried a handbag that matched her shoes, my grandfather always wore a fedora hat whenever they were in the public eye. My granddad even wore a fedora hat when having his portrait done. That hat was his trademark.

I honestly don’t recall any other gentleman who regularly donned such stylish hats. Just my granddad. It gave him quite a distinction.  

When I was a toddler, my family attended the local Episcopal church every Sunday. It was then that I learned ladies were supposed to cover their heads inside the sanctuary, yet men were to remove their hats inside. I never understood why that was, but I loved that I got to wear a brand-new hat and dress-up shoes every Christmas and Easter.

Over the years, styles changed dramatically and everything became less formalized. Yet my granddad continued to wear a fedora hat in public until his dying day.  Likewise, I happily donned a lovely hat anytime an appropriate occasion arose, like a wedding or a baptism or a funeral. Dressing for success and looking refined became an engrained habit that gave me confidence in public.

As society became increasingly concerned about the sun damaging our skin, I got into a habit of always wearing a hat whenever I planned to be outside for more than a minute or two. Likewise, I have always tended to wear a hat when attending a daytime wedding, just because I like to. It’s my style.

Thirty-five years ago, while shopping in Old Town Scottsdale, I purchased a distinctive dark tan straw gaucho-style hat embellished with a simple black grosgrain ribbon band. This hat immediately became my go-to chapeau whenever I expected to be outside for any length of time. On weekends I almost never left home without it.

Fast forward a dozen years. I was still wearing that hat at outdoor events or when simply putzing around the yard. With my boys then involved in outdoor high school sports like soccer, swimming, track and cross country, I gave my gaucho hat a new spirit by overlaying the plain black band with ribbons in the boys’ school colors. The hat underwent similar updates as the boys went off to college, sometimes every weekend depending on whose event we attended.  I rarely went to a school outing without another mom or a son’s new girlfriend saying, “I love your hat.”

When the boys later got married, the university-themed ribbons were replaced once again — this time with a red, white, and blue striped ribbon. That patriotically themed ribbon remained on my gaucho for a decade. No matter where I went while wearing that hat with the red, white and blue striped ribbon, people recognized me from far away without even seeing my face. It got to the point that some failed to recognize me if I wasn’t wearing that hat. Yet still, after all those years, anyone seeing me for the first time bedecked in that patriotically ribboned hat would invariably whisper to me, “I love your hat.”              

Yet all good things eventually come to an end. My beloved gaucho finally met its nemesis. My 9-month-old granddaughter grabbed hold of it one day and somehow broke the invisible wire that kept the outer edge of the brim flat. Clearly the good Lord was telling me it was time to let the hat go.

But old habits die hard. That hat had become an important part of my non-business persona.

I continued to wear my now-ramshackled gaucho as I embarked on a nationwide search to replace it. Literally everywhere I travelled—from speaking engagements and vacations to family gatherings in state after state—I looked for one just like it. Yet, every shopkeeper’s answer was the same: “I’ve never seen one like that.”

My youngest son, father of my hat’s nemesis, eventually helped me find a suitable substitute in Old Town San Diego: an off-white leather gaucho festooned with silver medallions entwined within a matching leather braided band. Quite distinctive in its own unique way, I purchased it. It’s even better suited as a cool-weather headdress than its predecessor.  And just as before, random people still stop me on the street to tell me, “I love your hat.” 

Mission accomplished, sort of.

The problem is that a leather gaucho is not suitable during Florida’s hot, humid summers. So, I continued the search for a facsimile of my beloved and airy straw gaucho.

It finally dawned on me that gaucho hats originated in the grasslands of South America. Since my husband and I were heading to Brazil on a post-New Years cruise, I took my battered straw gaucho along, hoping to find a match there.

We landed in San Jaun, Puerto Rico a few days prior to embarking on the cruise. With nothing better to do on that beautifully warm New Years Day, we decided to take a walk in charming Old San Juan.  I donned my battered straw gaucho as we explored the quaint shops along the avenidas of Old Town.

We quickly came upon a shop displaying the sign “Olé — The Original Panama Hat – Hand Made & Custom Fit,” so we went in to have a look.

My husband immediately pointed to the left front corner exclaiming excitedly, “Look at that!”  In addition to stacks and stacks of Panama hats in every conceivable color, there was a stack of completely unembellished, ready-for-customization, light-tan-colored straw gauchos.  I couldn’t believe it.

The shopkeeper was not only delighted to customize one to match my original, but he even prompted me to autograph the embossed leather label before affixing it inside the crown.  Upon paying for the bespoke straw gaucho, I immediately donned it with pure joy as we departed the Olé Original Panama Hat Shop.

We hadn’t walked more than a few blocks down the now crowded Calle De la Fortaleza when a woman called out to me in a loud voice from across the road, “Hey! I love your hat! Where did you get it?!”      

What pure serendipity. Mission accomplished.

The moral of this story is this: Never ever give up on something that you are passionate about or that is the essence of what makes you the distinct, admired, and recognized individual you are. When you acquire a distinction that works for you, no matter how trivial the attainment may seem, rather than downplay it, flaunt it. As Dr. Suess once said, “Why fit in when you were born to stand out?”

Enjoy the art of being distinct.