White Women Don't Wear Hats to Church On Easter: My Annual Rant*

Can I say I'm disappointed once again in my fellow sisters, especially the white ones who attend my church? Yes, you. Once again, you've broken my hearts. You didn't wear hats to Mass. Why not? I thought for sure this year you would. You know, I concluded that with the economic crisis/economic downturn/depression/recession/whatever you want to call it now, that you wear something on your head besides your hair. I pictured all of you reaching back into your closets, past the mom jeans, the silky black work blouses, the 1980s pleated pants and into the dusty hat boxes, pulling out broad-brimmed hats from your Princess Diana period, or maybe a 1950s cocktail hat from your Aunt Helene that you just can't bear to let go for a song on eBay. I had this idea that you wanted to forget, just for a little while, that you're having trouble paying your mortgage or that you're getting bored eating oatmeal prepared exactly the same way every morning. I thought maybe you were thinking about the good old days when you and mom would don matching hats and coats to Mass on the big day that allows Easter Bunny to criminally trespass the premises.

But I was wrong. Way wrong, once again. White women don't care about hats, tradition. They just want to wear a nice coat, dress, and pretty shoes. That's it. Wait. Lady who looked like she had purple roving on top of her head? I know I stared at you while I was in line for Communion. I just wanted to get a closer look at your headwear. At first I thought you had dyed part of your locks a royal hue, but on closer inspection, I realized that couldn't be the case. Your hair was lilac in only two spots, atop what looked like two clear plastic eggs. That was different, unique. I bet I wasn't the only ogling your head while on the way up to the altar. Sorry.

Next year, ladies? I'm not wearing an Easter hat. No way. I'm not going to that much effort again. Ok, I'll do it if a special man in my life begs me. Begs me! Or I go to a church that has a reputation for festive hats on Easter. Otherwise, I'm just blending into the masses. That's right. Ripped jeans, flip flots, a blouse that's open to there, no deodorant or make up. You won't be able to find me afterwards. I'll just slip out. Bye!

Anyway, here are some Easter hat related stories. One, two. Yeah, if I sound sore, I am. Give 12-hours and a Guinness, I'll perk up, I promise.
* These pictures were taken late in the day with my nieces and nephews. I'm wearing a strawberry-shaped cocktail hat I sewed - all by hand. True couture!