A black fedora, bought at a thrift store for maybe $10, that transforms everyone who wears it into a Fosse dancer.

Soany compliments. Souch glamour. You can’t wear it straight on– you have to cock it to one side with conviction, it’s the only way.

“Hey, I used to wear one of those,” said an almost-ninety-year-old, “back when I was a detective!”

I’d forgotten I owned this hat, and wouldn’t have worn it if my son hadn’t said it “looks so cool,” but it made the day– and somehow, not just mine.