The Red Hat Problem

The Illusionary Difference between MoMA and MAGA

A few months ago, my team at work toured the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York. It was a pretty awesome day. At the end of it, some of us bought Yankees hats in the museum shop. They had them in all different colors. I chose red.

There are a few reasons behind my choice, and I’ll share them. But, none have to do with a political opinion. It didn’t even cross my mind. Yet, every time I wear that hat, someone does a double take. At first glance, they think it’s a “Make America Great Again” hat.

Here’s a zoomed-in/cropped picture with a good angle of the hat in question.

Then, they see it’s not. And everything is fine. But something happened recently. An interaction went beyond the initial double take and revealed something far more interesting.

Let me start with this: Political opinions are personal. If you don’t want to share them, you shouldn’t have to. To me, it’s the same as not having to defend the car you drive or the music you love. Personal preference doesn’t need justification. You are only who you are, and you shouldn’t have to explain that.

But I figure knowing the following will lend some context to the rest of this:

1. I’ve never voted for a MAGA candidate. But I’ve occasionally voted Republican in the increasingly distant past.

2. I spent more money than ever supporting the Democrats in this last election cycle.

3. And I don’t use social media to get current events or swap opinions about politics. I curate my feeds as much as I can to meet this end.

That last point matters here because I don’t think some of my friends know my political opinions.

Well, if they’re reading this, they do now. Back to the hat.

While I realize the color red is closely associated with MAGA, it’s also aligned with things like roses, strawberries, fire engines, lady bugs, Elmo, Solo cups, Switzerland, the Detroit Red Wings, and a Taylor Swift album. To my knowledge, none of those chose the color as a political act. When the St. Louis Cardinals take the field in their red hats, I’ve never heard of anyone believing it’s a statement in support of MAGA.

When I bought the Yankee hat, I really only considered a few things: I liked the fact that red is a seriously non-New York Yankee color. That made the hat feel creative and almost subversive. And it says “MoMA” on the side. It’s a souvenir.

Plus, going back to childhood, red has never been a primary color in my wardrobe. Less so even in recent years. Now, I like giving myself the grace to expand my color palette. Why didn’t I do that sooner? A red accent in my wardrobe? It feels good. Fresh. Freeing.

But I understand the discourse in the U.S. When people mistake my red hat for a MAGA hat, I get why their mind goes there. MAGA is popular, and MAGA is red.

So when someone does their double take, I hint at my political leanings, disregarding the primary reasons I’m wearing the hat. I say something like, “I know MAGA took red. But I’m taking it back.”

But when I used that line yesterday, it got weird. Maybe not at first.

“Make red great again,” one of my friends jokes in response.

“MRGA,” someone else says, pronoucing it ‘mergah, like the slang version of “America” we so often hear people say. That’s solid wordplay.

And we move on. Or so I think.

Fast forward a few hours, the same group of folks start a text thread. They send a picture of a green Yankees MoMA hat.

“Pres, you could’ve gotten green!” Someone notes.

“#TakeBackRed,” I text back. “No regrets.”

“Pres, you could’ve gotten ANY OTHER COLOR,” another person says.

“EXACTLY, No other color needs saving more right now,” I say despite that not being close to the original reason I bought the hat.

“So what if you get booed in public?” Someone else says.

“Must be a Red Sox fan,” I say, referring to the large Yankee logo centered on the hat.

“I think it’s best we just let it go,” someone says.

I pause for the first time. I thought this was banter. Playful. Meaningless. Let what go? I ask myself. Are they trying to tell me something more? My friend clarifies, as if they’ve heard my thoughts.

“F*** red. Let it go. Good riddance. Red is ded.”

“Ooooh let the color go, not the argument lol,” someone else says, understanding the other person’s meaning.

We’re in an argument? I ask myself. Wasn’t it clear to them that I wasn’t politically motivated?

And it hits me. A red hat, regardless of any logo or phrase, is making them uncomfortable. Or maybe more appropriately, my refusal to acknowledge the power of a red hat is making them uncomfortable.

I consider a response. This could go two ways. I could “let it go” (to borrow their phrase), or I could choose to make it an actual argument out of this suggested one. To remind them that I don’t tell them what to wear. To tell them that if they’re triggered that badly, especially in the case of a museum gift shop souvenir, it’s their problem more than mine.

But I ask myself, to what end will this lead? What good would it do? So, I don’t take that road.

But I keep thinking about it. I wasn’t saying anyone else had to wear a red hat. Or any hat for that matter. And I typically don’t let anyone influence my wardrobe choices, especially the MAGA crowd. I wouldn’t wear their red hat, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear a red hat. They don’t own red.

However, that idea stops me. My heart sinks as I realize that maybe right now, they do own red. Sure it’s the color of the Kansas City Chiefs, Cincinnati Reds, Liverpool FC, Arsenal, Chicago Bulls… the list of sports teams feels endless. But if voting numbers are true, Donald Trump might have more fans than all of those, combined.

Trends are dictated by perception. Just because the hat means something to me doesn’t mean it means same thing to them. And I’ve been discounting that.

So for the first time, I realize I might be in the wrong (or at least being overly un-empathetic) by ignoring my friends’ perceptions of something they obviously care a lot about. A red hat does not make them feel good, even if the primary logo is a baseball team and this particular group could care less about sports.

It doesn’t mean that I have to take the hat off, but it does mean that I should listen more, be more open, and work harder to understand my friends’ point of view—especially if I want to keep them as friends, which I do.

The next morning, without too much thinking, I reach for my Tennessee Smokies hat. They’re a double-A baseball team, and our family went to a game last year. I got the hat for Christmas. But it’s red.

So I stop myself. I like the Smokies and the hat. But I will see my friends, so maybe today is not the day for this hat. I make the concession, and I’m happy to do it.

I still want that red accent though. That one pop of color. So, I put on red Converse All-Stars instead of the red hat.

Red shoes. I like the look.

But this concession is also still a symbol of my autonomy. I’m only willing to bend so far. If this reminds my friends of a problem they have with the famously red-shoed Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, they can go f*** a flying monkey.