In my first online hat-selling season on Etsy, I sold one hat to a guy.  I was thrilled. 

Now in my third hat-selling season, things are different.  Some weeks, about 50 percent of my hat buyers are men.

The secret to my increase in hat sales to men?  I realized that most crocheted hats are unisex.  The beanies, the berets, the slouchy hats -- all the simple, classic styles. 

I think handmade hats appeal to men for the same reasons they appeal to women: there's magic in an item of clothing that's utilitarian, yet beautiful.

One of my favorite thank-you notes was from a guy who loved his new hat, calling it "sexy in a beanie kind of way." 

When is a hat not unisex?  I have an admittedly subjective test.  I try it on my hunky male mannequins.  If the hat looks goofy on them, chances are good it's going to look goofy on an actual guy.


NOTE: This is the last in my "Hundreds of Hats Later: What I've Learned" blog posts. 

UPDATE 6/29/2024: My unenlightened self wrote this over 10 years ago.  Now I believe that anyone can wear any style hat that they want, and if they think they look good in it, they probably do!

Instead of deleting this post, I'm keeping it because I love the reader's comment that answers the question, "Do Hats Have Gender?"

One of the first custom orders in my Etsy shop was a request for a minimalist beanie.  Plain.  Black.  Cotton or perhaps linen.

There is a certain beauty in a handmade minimalist beanie.  After I finished it, I even took arty photos of sunlight streaming through the small, lovely stitches.

But after making lots and lots of hats, I find that while you admire a minimalist black beanie for its stark beauty, you're more likely to fall in love with the exuberant side of crochet.  The color, the crazy stitches, the bobbles, the wild shapes, the fantastic flowers.

When I see a wonderful, new crocheted item, I think, Oh, my goodness.  Look at that!  

One of the biggest lessons I've learned about making hats is that so-so ideas -- or even bad ideas -- can evolve into hat designs I'm really proud of.

You try something.  It doesn't quite work.  You make modifications.  Or you try something else.

It's about the process as much as the outcome.

My first design submissions were to a crochet magazine.  One of the magazine's upcoming themes was a celebration of buttons.

I made a pillbox and sewed on rows and rows of vintage pearl buttons.  Unfortunately, all those buttons weighed the hat down and turned the pillbox into a head-hugging beanie.  After I removed about half of the buttons, the pillbox kept its shape (see photo above), but I still wasn't happy with it.

OK.  Next time I tried a hat with fewer buttons -- just 20 or so around a narrow, terracotta-color crocheted hat band.  I liked it a lot.  And so did the magazine. 

NOTE: This is the eighth in my "Hundreds of Hats Later: What I've Learned" blog posts.  Next up: "Beauty in Crochet: Post-Minimalism."

A few years ago when I started crocheting again, I struggled with novelty yarns. 

Their extreme texture and fuzziness made it almost impossible to see where to put the hook for the next stitch.

Then someone let me in on the secret to making novelty yarns behave: Just add a plain yarn to crochet along with the ornery fancy yarn.

Simple, but effective.  You can actually see the stitches.  And the plain yarn adds body and helps the item keep its shape. 

NOTE: This is the seventh in my "Hundreds of Hats Later: What I've Learned" blog posts.  Next up: "First You Try."

Published in the '70s, the pattern for this paisley patchwork top came in Small, Medium and Large.  The different sizes were created by using smaller or bigger hooks, which obviously would affect the fabric. 

I imagine the three tops, side by side -- a stiffer Small, a mellow Medium, a looser Large -- and feeling each fabric to see which I liked the best.

I used to think that there was a perfect gauge for each yarn -- usually the one printed on the label.  Changing the gauge seemed like a clumsy way to size a pattern

But lately, I'm finding that gauge can be a personal preference, an evolution, even.  I've been crocheting my hats tighter than I did three years ago.  I try a chunky yarn at a worsted gauge.  A heavy worsted yarn at a light worsted gauge.

A year from now, my hats may be able to stand up by themselves. 

Or they may go in the opposite direction.  Soft, soft, soft.  And see-through.

It's all in the gauge.  

NOTE: This is the sixth in my "Hundreds of Hats Later: What I've Learned" blog posts.  Next up: "Taming Novelty Yarns."