Tip of the hat to the Nashville experience

Cavanman's Diary

I’ve never been a man for accessories or showy items of clothing. Tattoos or piercings aren’t my thing either, which made my recent purchase of a cowboy hat something of a surprise. I didn’t think a simple leather hat could change a person’s identity but I was wrong. If being a cowboy is a state of mind, the hat is the switch. When it’s on, it’s on – permission to be whatever you want is granted.

I was in Nashville in April when I obtained my 100pc cow-hide Kenny K, which came in a lush package with what they call the stampede string attached. It was the morning I arrived, the sun was shining and, on a whim, I walked into a shop that contained hundreds – or maybe thousands – of cowboy hats of every description.

One of the ladies working there latched on to me – a cynic might deduce that ‘big head, bigger hat, even bigger tip’ was her thinking – and put such effort into finding me the right one and complimented my cranium in such a lovely drawl that, even though the inclination had worn off me, I felt I couldn’t leave without buying it.

And as it was early in the holiday and I was a bit excited by the whole enterprise and the fuss this southern belle was making over me, I bought what was (for me) a dear one, coming in at about $75 or so. It fitted snugly; I added a checked shirt in the same shop and made my way back out into the light and up the strip, cowboy mode engaged.

And it was then that it happened - a transformation came over me, more or less instantaneously. There was suddenly an inch to my stride. My wife was the first to notice it – “you really love that hat,” she said. And then, a friend – “That hat is giving you life!” she replied to a text – and, I had to say, they were right. I was loving this hat.

As someone who has never even donned a baseball cap for any more than a couple of minutes, it was all new to me. And soon enough, I began to lean into my new look.

Within a couple of hours, I found myself drinking Tennessee bourbon whiskey, another first. And after a few of those, I caught myself saying American-inflected things. Not a full accent, you understand, but little things, to strangers, like “You’re Goddamn right” and so on. They didn’t look twice at me – it was as if my hat invoked a suspension of disbelief, something the Country and Western scene in general seems to run on.

The effect of the hat was surprisingly potent. I rued shaving that morning – cowboys always wear thick stubble – and, walking, I found my gait altered slightly.

The first night wearing my hat passed by in a blur. Nashville is the only place I have ever been where you can walk up the street in one and not be dismissed as an attention-seeker, a fool, or both. After a short time sporting it, the self-consciousness wears off.

In the taxi from the airport, the driver had warned us to pace ourselves. “Don’t get carried away,” he said, “Nashville always wins.”

We laughed at how seriously he passed on the advice. I assured him that wouldn’t be a problem; we’re not the sorts to lose the run of ourselves partying – but that was before I bought the hat. Long story short, the driver was right. That was a long night; the next morning, while the hat miraculously made it home, I was a lonesome cowboy.

But like an elixir, my hat gave me new life that day and we entered the fray again. Nashville is full-on, a sort of Disney for fans of country music, with rock, indie and pop bands playing too; the atmosphere is amazing. It’s Americana all the way - and I love that, to be honest. I always have.

On our second last day, we had planned a trip to Graceland, which left me in a quandary. There were plenty of Irish tourists around Nashville (there are now direct flights from Dublin) and I reckoned the bus to Memphis would be full of pasty-skinned day-trippers like us.

Suddenly, I was doubting myself, the lone rider replaced by the coward of the county. It’s okay to prance about in a cowboy hat in front of Americans but would I have the cojones to wear it on a busload of Irish people, who, if they were like me, were probably going to take one glance, roll their eyes and mutter under their breath, “Would you look at yon…”

However, after some cajoling, I reluctantly wore it and I was glad I did.

(As an aside, even though I am a fan of Elvis, I didn’t know what to expect from Graceland. I anticipated the quasi-religious fervour of the place but the six gift shops left me all shook up.

I had noticed this in the States before, at the 9-11 memorial museum, where items like pieces of concrete and steel beams are encased in glass and displayed like relics. In Graceland, one of the exhibits is a bedside locker; another is the fuseboard from the King’s kitchen.)

There’s always a sweet sadness coming home from a long holiday. It’s a couple of weeks out of your life after all; if you ever visit again, it could be years in the future and you’ll be returning a different person. So, I was determined to wring the last drop from this. The next day, I wore the hat to the airport and on to the plane; I tilted it downwards to shade my eyes when I was sleeping.

But when we hit Dublin, reality slapped us across the face – it was cold and the fuel protests were at their height that day. It would take almost five hours to get back to sweet Virginia – the one in the deep south of Cavan, not the deep south of the USA – and I was in no mood to don my headgear.

Although I felt naked without it for the first couple of hours, I placed it on a shelf and there it has stayed, bar one evening when I wore it mowing the back lawn (or “riding the steel horse”, as I imagined it). I took it off when I did the front, where the neighbours might see. There are limits.

A month passed. Nashville felt like a distant memory, my hat remained shelf-bound, strategically placed to cover an ugly piece of crystal. And then, all of a sudden, word reached us on the bush wire. A family wedding in the offing, the theme, Western.

Kenny K’s time had come again. “Saddle up, partner,” I said, dusting him down. The cowboy is heading back on the trail!