[John O’Hurley voice]
The Small Island of Dominica. Columbus discovered it, named it, and left it alone. It is north of Martinique. And unspoiled.
It’s the perfect place to disappear, to embrace the sun, the sand, and the joys of bankruptcy. To stand at the edge of the water, the surf pounding your legs and to shout defiance at the evil that is the world of catalog sales.
But all shoreline adventures must end, and as the sun dissolves into the liquid chrome that is the Caribbean, one must pull on a serviceable pair of canvas shoes, throw a classic button-down 100% cotton shirt over one’s shoulders, and trudge back to civilization…
And fill the lungs one last time before blazing a new trail. But what is that scent? Ah, it is sweet Failure, and it has a fairly quiet smell, less strong than anything called perfume, less strong than anything called a toiletry, but not so quiet as to be boring. It is, in fact, quite olfactory in its nature.
It is motivational the way a real man begins to smell from strong sun, salt water, steel drums, breaking waves, moving palm branches and island music coming from somewhere.
Men embraced Bankruptcy long before the 1800s, when Dominica was set up as a tax haven. Real men have come to these beaches since the days of the Spanish Main, to shelter their treasures from the prying eyes of the SEC.
And to gaze at the setting sun from under the brim of a ball cap that Papa Hemingway would have liked. A hat he probably bought in a bait shop somewhere in this part of the Caribbean. It may have been on a rack next to the cash register, among the beef jerky wrapped in cellophane. Or maybe he saw it sitting on a tackle box in a forgotten corner of the shop.
He may have had to go to some trouble to buy this one. Perhaps it belonged to the owner of the bait shop, perhaps it had never had a price tag affixed to its adjustable leather tab centered on the back, but it had to be procured. The weathered poplin, the long bill, longer than he, at least, had ever seen before, suddenly all made sense.
As did the visor: leather; soft and glareless and unaffected by repeated rain squalls. The color: same as strong scalding espresso, lemon peel on the side.
Cotton blend canvas. 6 brass grommets for ventilation. Elastic at back to keep this treasure from blowing off your head and into the sea that wafts the scent of fiscal mismanagement to an enlightened ex-executive who has found peace in the perfect hat.
Hemingway’s Cap, number 1537. Price: $39. Sizes: M, L, XL. Imported. Shipping free when purchased with Hemingway’s Canvas Shoes