A Tale of two hats

A crisp winter breeze fluttered through the air as Sandra hustled down the boulevard.  She could hear the familiar refrain of a Bob Marley song float towards her as she made her way to the meeting place. Trying to place the song as she hummed it, she couldn’t remember which one was it ‘No woman, No cry’ or ‘Three little birds’.  She’d have sang it as a greeting when she met up with her friends but who has time to learn words in another language.  Not Sandra, she was too busy sending one dollar every 365 days to save a child starving somewhere in Africa. 


The guitar player soon came into view, it wasn’t a black man singing the songs of the African peoples. Instead of a delicious mocha, chocolate, honey, caramel, toasted almond, mahogany pe-, a man with creamy coloured skin flashed a rosy smile at her. She smiled back politely and wondered where he learnt to play music with such soul. 


Stifling a yawn, she quickly texted Heather and Kristen that she was there. God, last night was so lit. She couldn’t remember being so energised at one of the family meetings for such a long time.  She’d mentioned she was coming to the march today and it sent her Grandma and Aunts into a fit. It was so trying to explain new age feminism to the older generation.  Her Aunt actually tried to tell her that women had more backbone back in her day.  Aunt Meryl’s exact phrase was ‘If anything got out of hand we’d just telephone for a cab and go home, that was what $0.10 and nerve got you!’  God, Aunt Meryl, we have Uber now.  


Kristen texted back that they were at Starbucks, and if she needed anything. ‘equality’ Sandra texted back with a smirk, but if they’re out, I’ll have a double shot with whipped cream. thanks x’

Kristen sent back a quick ‘Please, I’m only here because it’s the only thing open #FairtraderForLyfe’


Snarky banter that established them both as advanced and aware white people over, Sandra took out her sign.  It was one that was sure to get her noticed in the NYT or even better Buzzfeed.  Sometimes she surprised herself, she really should apply to the online mega company and stop wasting her writing talent. A couple good publications should be enough to get her a book deal and she could talk about what it means to be woke in the current climate. ‘White and Woke’ she’d call it, and she already had the T.J. Maxx pantsuit for the cover. 


Stealing a quick glance around the square, she could see some signs already up. Mainly, ‘Who run the world, GIRLS’, ‘My pussy fights back’, and ‘A woman is a dangerous thing’. All amateurs. Beyonce, rallying words and quotes from literature are such basic things to write for a protest. Sandra knew better, she’d been a feminist from birth. It was in her lineage, her great-grandmother had marched with Susan B. Anthony. Sandra’d even taken nude shots for her Arts class. ‘I am woman hear me roar’, she’d captioned the picture of herself topless sitting on the statue of Robert E. Lee on horseback.  There was a black woman who’d said that it didn’t make sense given history and the fact that white women have always maintained a structural supremacy.  Sandra had tried to explain that it was meta, but the girl just didn’t get it. It was ok, art isn’t for everyone, and she’d still gotten an A.

Today instead of taking the brave step of freeing her nipple in the freezing cold, she was going to be in full costume.  She had her all white Leia ensemble in her bag ready to go. She’d gotten inspiration last night, and knew that her ‘The Resistance is Female’ sign would benefit from the added oomph.  


White boots made for walking over the patriarchy? Check.

White pants ready to be stained red with the blood of men? Check.

White turtleneck? Double check.

White hood with eyes cut out. Check



Oh no!


She’d brought the wrong headwear!!! 


Shit! It was supposed to be a pink, pussy hat!!!!!!




Sandra swore at herself, how could she have grabbed the wrong one. Sure she’d placed them right next to each other, but one was to be worn around safe company and the other, outdoors, for instagram. 


Shit.  Shit. Shit. 


Sandra began to giggle.  Oh my goodness, she couldn’t believe how ridiculous she was sometimes.  She’d have to tell Kristen and Heather as soon as they got back to her Williamsburg apartment.  Imagine, bringing the wrong hat! This was one for the ages.  Luckily, her costume would be fine anyway. 


—-The End.