By high school, a ball cap atop my dome was a staple. I vividly remember my excellent all-business 12th grade calculus teacher, may she rest in peace, who wouldn't allow hats in her classroom. At the time I was an observant conservative Jew (I know, I know, things change) who wore a yarmulke and tallit katan under my shirts. Most teachers in my completely Christian town didn't want to touch the whole "Jewish thing" with a 10-foot pole, and they let me wear my hat instead of my yarmulke. But not Ms. Murphy. She was way too smart for that shit. 

She said, "If you require a head-covering for my class, it has to be a yarmulke."

And, for the record, she was totally correct. She had a strict "No Hats" rule. She had no problem with my religious practices, but she knew that the Jews didn't command baseball caps in Math class, and she put her reasonable foot down firmly. Man, she was an amazing teacher. 

Anyhoo. I want to regale you with stories of my deep love for head coverings, the aesthetics and aerodynamics of brimmed outerwear, and how wearing caps changed my life for the better. The truth is, I've been waiting for my hair to fall out since I was 14.