Toque trouble

I wish I looked better in a toque. 

That’s a vain thought, I realize, but it’s worth noting, given this is the quintessential Canadian wardrobe staple from October to April. 

I am a big believer in having a warm cranium.

I don’t like to be cold, period. 

Sometimes, I wear a toque inside the house, too. Warm head, warm body. I also dress in layers because the Carpenter’s favourite response to complaints of coldness is, “put a sweater on.”  

This even though the water in our Brita jug recently had ice forming on it. Hey Carpenter, throw another log on the fire, you cheapskate.

I just wish I had that stylish winter look that my fancy friend does. She rocks a toque. Her winter hat collection becomes the anchor of her daily attire. 

Her long blonde tendrils of hair twirl at the bottom, as if she planned it that way. She did, didn’t she? She is that good. A true fashion goddess. I bet her bangs plump up when she pulls that toque off and they fluff back up, as if on command. Hat head isn’t even a thing for her. 

Fashion aside, I understand the goal of a toque is warmth and protection from the elements, but why am I the only person who looks like I’m a wearing a prophylactic on my head, with a faux fur pom-pom, for character. 

You laugh, but tell me you didn’t just get a visual. It’s accurate.

I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a tight knit toque, the ones that should fit snug and secure to the head and leave no nub on the top. I still somehow ended up looking like a Q-tip. It’s literally designed not to move off your head, but on this noggin, it slides clear off and looks as if I’m storing nuts up in there (I’m not, but I might).

I always wanted a grey knit slouchy beanie. Those snazzy toques stretch across the circumference of your scalp before casually drooping into a sluggish sack on the back of your head. I’m not selling it, I know, but the beauty of this look is that it creates the impression that neither you nor the beanie care if you look lazy. 

It’s an attitude toque. It says, “Bam, take that on-lookers. We refuse to conform to upright hat fashions.”

That backfired. I looked like I’d squeezed a work sock across my fat head, with the toe-end dangling uselessly behind me. It was like the toque deflated. It just gave up on us both.

So, I tried one of those Newsboy caps (seemed career appropriate), with the curved brim, a little flower on the side, that sits atop your head almost like a perfect round box, resting just above the ears. 

I loved this cap. I still do. But I have the ears of an elf carefully secured under my long hair. This cap made my ears stick out. To be clear, I am not an elf, but I have asked the Carpenter to make elf houses for the forest. That’s another story, for another time.  

For now, I will continue to wear my dark green knit hat with the faux fur pom-pom, hiding my oblong cranium. 

It pairs nicely with my bright choral puffer coat, another visual you may not recover from. I’m basically a traffic cone. 

Bundle up and remember kids; warm is the new hot.  

Toque on.

WriteOut of Her Mind