I went for a noir look, and, again, wore a fedora…this one an actual vintage Paramount lid from the early 1940s (gray, wide brim, high crown). And the headgear made me feel less nervous.įlash forward to my very first author photos…here, too, I wanted to set myself apart from the stern-looking, typical literary poses. I looked around for an appropriate piece of clothing, and … voilà! I chose a fedora, a crushable gray, good for travel. I’d like to say I planned fedora-wearing as a personal trademark and all that, but the truth is I wanted a way for my Internet buddies to find me in a crowded conference. And as a crime fiction writer-particularly of the hard-boiled school-I get to indulge my fedora craze on an official basis. So I love the lids, okay? But my favorite, my head gear that I can’t live without … a fedora.Įven the word conjures up the essence of mystery. I’ve worn derbies, cowboy hats, tam o’shanters, Venetian boat hats, Greek fishermen’s caps, and even a top hat, the latter in an effort to summon my inner Marlene Dietrich. Long before hipsters strolled the streets of San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York sporting snap brim, modified fedoras that typically look more like Bing Crosby playing golf than Frank Sinatra swinging at the Sands, I’d buy head gear at flea markets and garage sales: women’s hats from the ’40s and ’60s (love the pillbox), cloches from the ’20s, men’s hats (mostly fedoras) from the ’30s through the ’60s.

Nox Dormienda by Kelli Stanley