Off the Rail #6: The Andersen-Andersen Beanie
Tall tales, small talk, and entirely useless tangents inspired by the daily wardrobe rotation
As alluded to elsewhere on the interwebs, I make no bones of the fact I’m a beard-toting, tiny beanie-wearing, speciality coffee-drinking, wiener dog-walking poster boy of postmodern irony. For the most part, my beard is now exempt from public scrutiny. It’s 2020 after all; those of us that still have beards have already become walking, talking caricatures of ourselves. The coffee snobbery is met with equal indifference for the simple fact that anyone who takes 15 minutes to brew their morning coffee is already having a shit enough time as it is. And nobody dares comment on the wiener dog because behind those floppy ears and that oh so boopable snoot lies a cold-as-ice, Anton Chigurh-esque aptitude for violence.
But the tiny beanie? There are few things more divisive than the teeny, tiny beanie. It confounds, confuses, beguiles and angers in equal measure. The lines of inquiry it elicits run the whole gamut from ‘aren’t your ears cold?’ to ‘is that a religious statement?’ Fellow members of the itty, bitty beanie committee are apt to seek sanctuary in the garment’s rich, naval history. They call it a ‘watch cap’ and they lean desperately, frantically, lyingly on its utilitarian values. That’s fine. Personally, I need no greater motivation to don a diminutive woollen hat than simply thinking it looks cool. Anything that walks the tightrope between The Life Aquatic’s hipster whimsy and Deer Hunter’s rugged gravitas is a winner in my book. I dig it - that’s all the rationale I need.
I picked up my Andersen-Andersen beanie from Manchester’s Oi Polloi back in 2016 and I’ve proceeded to wear the living piss out of it since. When not worn, it holds pride of place in the go-bag and back pocket alike. It’s clocked a couple hundred miles’ worth of coffee runs, pre-dawn sprints and sundown dog walks. It’s become the de facto attire for the frequent occasions when I find myself short on time and wild of hair. As is custom, my wiener dog has savaged the damn thing senseless, too. Ralph’s a dog that, by all conceivable reckoning, is genetically engineered for chewing shit to all fuckery. That the beanie remains at all wearable is a real testament to its grit.
I bought the beanie back in colder, darker days when, for a number of reasons, money was harder to part with. I think that’s exactly why I like it so much. Much like the shop tee, the bandana, the keychain and the coffee mug, the beanie is a gateway piece. It’s a token purchase that lets you show your support for a brand or business without diving head first into the top tier of its offerings. It has value beyond the numbers on the price tag.
Lockdown has seen a collective return to these pieces, as customers with vested interests in the survival of their favourite mom n’ pop shops make smaller purchases with tighter budgets. I like that. In a community that increasingly hinges its authority on spending power as opposed to any real passion or personality, my beat-up, gnawed-to-all-shit beanie is a solid reminder that personal style should never come at the cost of financial security, and that your sense of belonging shouldn’t be dictated by your budget. Buy within your means from the folks you like and proceed to wear like hell.
