Straw Hat Day, Thirty Fedoras, and the Time People Rioted Over Hats

 Straw Hat Day, Thirty Fedoras, and the Time People Rioted Over Hats

I’ve got about thirty fedoras in many styles and colours, stingy brim, top hats, porkpies, etc,etc...

At a certain point, you stop calling it a collection and just admit it’s part of your identity. I’m a hat guy. So when something like Straw Hat Day comes around, I pay attention—not because I’m strict about it, but because it’s a reminder of a time when hats actually meant something.

Not that long ago, hats weren’t optional. If you were a man leaving the house, you had a hat on. And more than that, there were rules. Real, widely understood rules. Straw hats in the warmer months. Felt hats when it got cold. You didn’t mix them, and you definitely didn’t ignore the seasonal shift.

Straw Hat Day—usually May 15—was the signal. Time to put away the heavier felt and switch to something lighter and breathable. It wasn’t just practical; it was cultural. Everyone knew, and most people followed along without thinking twice. They used to put reminders for men in the local newspapers.

And then there’s the part that still blows my mind.

The Straw Hat Riots of September 1922.

Starting around September 13, in New York, groups of guys—mostly young—started knocking straw hats off other men’s heads because they felt those hats were being worn too late in the season. That alone is ridiculous. But it didn’t stop there. It escalated. Fast.

Within days, it turned into full-on street chaos involving thousands of people. Fights broke out. Hats were destroyed on sight. People got arrested. What started as a prank became a city-wide mess—all over whether someone was wearing the “wrong” hat at the “wrong” time.

It’s easy to laugh at that now, and honestly, you should. It’s absurd. But it also says something about how much shared norms used to matter. People were operating inside the same unwritten system, and when someone stepped outside of it—even in a small way—it meant something.

Today, none of that exists in the same way. You can wear a straw hat in December or a heavy felt in July, and nobody’s going to do anything more than maybe think it’s a bit odd. We’ve got more freedom now, and that’s not a bad thing. But we’ve also lost that sense of a shared rhythm.

Me? I’m still wearing my hats. Probably a felt most of the time, if I’m being honest. I like the structure of it. I like the weight. I like the look. But I also appreciate the idea behind Straw Hat Day—not as a rule I have to follow, but as a tradition that connects us to a different way of living.

A time when even something as simple as a hat carried meaning.

And no, I’m not switching just because the calendar says so. I’ve got thirty fedoras. I’ll wear whatever one I feel like.